


The Grimoire of West Detroit

by Creme13rulee



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Demon Summoning, Demon viktor, Demon/Human Relationships, Fluff, Gore, Happy Ending, Human Yuuri, M/M, Magic, Magic Users, Modern Fantasy, Temporary Character Death, Trans Katsuki Yuuri, Trans Male Character, past suicide mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-18 03:24:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 21,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20632301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Creme13rulee/pseuds/Creme13rulee
Summary: When Yuuri Katsuki moved to Detroit, he expected his reputation as a fortune teller’s son to leave him. When  his best friend Phichit dies under Yuuri's botched spell, Yuuri makes a deal… his  eternal soul in return for the revival of his friend. But the silver-haired demon Yuuri summons wants more than his metaphysical heart. And Yuuri wants nothing less.





	1. 1

Tears clouded his vision and his hands shook as he painted the floor of their apartment with his blood. His wrist ran thick with it, and he used his fingers to paint careful runes into the pentagram on the hardwood.

It was not as bad as Phichit’s blood soaking his bed, his ruined leg-- his cold hands.

He had only asked for help healing his sprained ankle so he could go to Lake Placid. It had been a simple spell, but one twitch and it had gone horribly, horribly wrong.

Yuuri had killed his best friend.

He smoothed back the page that contained the specific circle that would someone strong enough to revive Phichit. Magic always had a cost. But Yuuri knew he would pay it.

Yuuri sobbed, finishing the circle with one last stroke, pressing his sticky palms to the center of it. It wasn’t necessary, but he needed to feel something that wasn’t sickening remorse.

“My,my. What a mess.”

Yuuri’s eyes flew open at the heavy-accented voice. Steel-toed boots stepped out from the center of the circle. Yuuri looked up, his eyes crossing and vision blurring before the demon settled on the image he wanted to project. His cheeks were tight and wet with endless tears. He was covered in Phichit’s blood, with a much smaller quantity of his own.

Everything was a mess.

Yuuri should have kept to simple charms and cooking magic like his mother.

Slender white hands ran fingers under Yuuri’s jaw. The demon pulled his chin up and peered at him with cold blue slitted eyes. “You summoned me.”

“Uh-huh.” Yuuri breathed, his voice weak. There was no question of it. He squeezed his eyes closed. “I need you to revive my roommate-- my best friend-- Phichit Chulanont.”

“Easy. If you can pay the price.”

“I will. Just do it. Please.”

The demon was quiet.

“It’s a soul for a soul, little piggy. Not a little energy and a sprinkle of salt.”

“ _ Please. _ ”

“So your soul, then?” Yuuri nodded. He went stiff as the demon took him by the jaw and turned his head side to side. Opened his mouth and examined his teeth. Peered directly into his eyes.

“The spell would ruin your already pitiful eyes.” The demon huffed. “I’ll have to do your heart.”

“Then do it.” Yuuri didn’t dare move-- in the off chance he smudged the circle before he had a chance to finish the deal.

A cold hand pressed against Yuuri’s chest. The demon’s silver hair fell into his eyes when he knelt. He was strong enough to use magic without writing or words.

The magic seared Yuuri's’s heart-- the pain hotter than a brand against skin and deeper than skin and flesh. His vision blurred and his stomach heaved with nausea, before it all went dark.


	2. 2

Yuuri woke up to the smell of Windex and steam.

The circle had been washed from the floor, and Phichit hummed as he carried the teapot into Yuuri’s bedroom.

“Yuuri! You’re awake!” Phichit brightened as soon as he noticed, dropping the china pot and stained ‘texas grandpa’ mug on Yuuri’s desk.

Yuuri watched the man-- the monster?-- who was sitting at the foot of his bed. He looked perfectly normal-- if not insanely gorgeous and hauntingly familiar.

“You’re okay?” Yuuri’s mouth was dry and sour-tasting, his ribs still aching.

“Better than ever,” Phichit sat on the bed next to the demon, somehow unphased by his presence. “Though… I don’t know how I’m ever going to repay you.”

“You don’t owe me. It was my fault in the first place.” Yuuri croaked. “I messed up.”

“You gave up eternity, Yuuri.” Phichit softened, resting his hand on top of Yuuri’s. “Don’t act like that’s nothing.” He looked meaningfully at the demon and swallowed nervously. “Can we talk?”

“Mhmm,” Yuuri felt like his ribs had been ripped apart and reassembled out of order. Every breath hurt, and heat radiated from his heart.

“Without...Mr. Demon?” Phichit nodded toward the man sitting at Yuuri’s feet.

Yuuri’s heart beat a little faster, pumping a bit too hard for a second when the demon frowned. He was clearly irritated.

“Yuuri gets to name me.” The demon growled.

“Why me?” Yuuri felt small under the demon’s gaze, which regarded everything with a coldness that matched the icy blue of his eyes. 

“You’re the one who signed your soul away. Resurrection is only one page in my playbook. Did you think it would be one deed and I would go away?”

Yuuri picked at the edge of his blanket. “I didn’t really think past getting Phichit back.”

The demon held his hands up and shrugged. “I could devour your soul now, but it would defeat the purpose of why you summoned me. If you wanted to go in his place, you could have turned the page in your grimoire.”

Yuuri opened his mouth, but no words sprang to his lips. He was right.

“Viktor?”

The demon tilted his head. “Is that a question, or my name?”

“It’s your name,” Yuuri swallowed nervously. “Viktor...can you step out?”

Viktor frowned but rose to his feet. He wore a heather grey suit, slim cut and darker than his starlight hair. He was perfect. And entirely unexpected.

“I… I want an energy drink. And some aspirin.” Yuuri rubbed his breastbone. Viktor perked up at the request.

“An elixer? Potion making isn’t my forte.”

“No! No. That’s okay. No more magic. Just.. a Monster. From a store. That isn’t mage-owned.” Yuuri stuttered. “My wallet’s on the coffee maker.”

Phichit stared tensely at Yuuri until they heard the front door shut.

“Holy shit, Yuuri. Way to answer question number one. It’s him.” Phichit grabbed fistfulls of Yuuri’s blanket. “You kill me, resurrect me AND sold your soul to your preteen crush! All over one friday!”

“It’s not a crush if you never met,” Yuuri mumbled under his breath.

“I tried seeing if he remembered skating, but he’s… really cold. He only wanted to talk to you.” Phichit ignored Yuuri’s embarrassment. “I woke up before you, and he was in your bed with you. I told him you would freak out if you woke up like that… Maybe it wasn’t the best way to start things off.” Phichit hummed.

“Well...yeah..” Yuuri’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He committed suicide. If he even remembers… he wouldn’t want to talk about it.”

“Sounds like he isn’t leaving until you die.” Phichit finally remembered the abandoned tea pot and poured Yuuri a cup of lukewarm green tea.

“If we’re not careful, that’s going to be sooner rather than later.” Yuuri groaned, pulling his fingers down his face. “No more magic.”

“Aw, man! But--”

“No more! You died!” Yuuri’s voice rose.

“Only for a little while! No magic at all? Not even for pad thai night?”

“Phichit. You. Died.” Yuuri narrowed his eyes. “I’m done. No more.”

“I forgive you. Everyone makes mistakes. No one makes noodles like you do.” Phichit whined, draping himself dramatically across the foot of Yuuri’s bed.

“We can use GrubHub, Peach. I don’t have anything more to trade for.” Yuuri sighed. Viktor would be back soon, and he’d have to face the rest of his life with the man who owned his immortal soul.

The pain took Yuuri’s breath away when he lifted his arms. “Peach?”

Phichit opened his eyes, waiting. He could always sense when Yuuri was nervous.

“Can you help me take off my binder before Viktor comes back? And find me a bigger shirt?”

Phichit pulled himself up off the bed slowly, padding over to Yuuri’s dresser. “Yeah, I guess it’s been twelve hours already.” He pulled a 3-sizes-too-big Tshirt from the local student credit union from the dresser and helped pull Yuuri’s properly-sized shirt over his head. His warm fingers slid under the tight elasticated fabric and rolled it up over Yuuri’s arms. He knew Yuuri wasn’t used to skinship, but the mothering part of him wanted to smooth out the red mark on Yuuri’s skin.

“Better,” Yuuri breathed, only relaxing once he was in the ugly oversized shirt and laying back on his pillows.

“Are you okay?” Phichit fidgeted with the binder in his hands, pulling at the fabric.

“I will be. Especially if you order Taco bell.”

Phichit finally smiled.


	3. 3

Yuuri had not planned for making room for a demon coming into his life, especially one that acted so oddly. He came back with a dozen monsters, name-brand aspirin as well as heating pads and a bag of sweets that somehow turned out to be all of Yuuri’s favorites.

He had demanded to sleep in the same bed their first night, which Yuuri immediately denied. He ended up rolling the futon his mother had sent from Hasetsu out onto the floor, sacrificing one of the pillows to the pile.

“I don’t need it. I don’t sleep.” Viktor bit back, soured by his banishment to the floor.

“I do.” Yuuri had replied, before pulling his blankets over his head.

He didn’t seem to eat either-- but he felt hunger in his own way. He was more irritable in the mornings, sweeter in the early afternoons after a long time spent with a hand on Yuuri’s waist or on his shoulder. When Phichit left for class, Viktor would nibble at the soft skin on Yuuri’s neck and relish the soft noises he earned before Yuuri pushed him away.

“I need your energy, one way or the other.” Viktor growled when Yuuri twisted out of his grip in the kitchen, balancing on pointe while he reached for the jar of dried shiso he kept in a higher cabinet.

“Is that it?” Yuuri paused, rolling the jar of purple leaves in his palm. “My energy?”

“Through touch, or your blood. This isn’t my realm, after all. You are the one tied to me.” Viktor leaned back on the kitchen counter.

Yuuri’s cheeks flushed an adorable pink that made Viktor’s face look a little less hard.

“Oh. Sorry.” He twisted the lid off the jar and shaking the shisho on top of his rice. “You can share my bed tonight, if that’s easier.”

“That’s a long way away, Yuuri.” Viktor sighed. He always sounded vaguely dissapointed and angry.

“Well, it’s not like I can live with you hanging off me---” Yuuri caught himself, snapping his mouth shut and focusing on packing his lunch. “How much blood?”

“Just a little. I can heal you afterwards.” Viktor stepped forward, and Yuuri lifted his still-healing wrist to him. Instead, Viktor tilited his head to the side and kissed the tender skin of his neck. His sharp canines grazed the skin before piercing it.

“Ah--” Yuuri had steadied himself for the pain that never came-- instead a bizarre pleasure curled in his gut and straightened his spine.

“Delicious,” Viktor hummed as he lapped at Yuuri’s neck. Demons were notorious for being succubi, as sexual energy was known to be more filling than life energy. But Yuuri continued to push him away. 

Yuuri’s hands shook as he tried to press the lid onto his bento box, his neck carefully poised.

“Are you hard?” Viktor laughed, the sound vibrating in Yuuri’s neck. 

His entire body stiffened, and Yuuri could only squeak. Viktor kissed his neck, the warmth of his body gone as quickly as it had came.

“Let me see you,” Viktor laughed it was not loving, more teasing than anything.

“Nope!” Yuuri felt himself turn red and pressed his stomach against the kitchen counter uncomfortably far.

“I just want to look--” Viktor pulled Yuuri from the counter-- he was several inches and two realms stronger than Yuuri, who stumbled, caught off guard.

“No.”

Viktor grunted as the stainless steel pot in Yuuri’s hands found purchase against his gut, leftover rice falling in clumps onto his feet. If he were human, there would be a bruise.

Yuuri dropped the pot back onto the stove and shrunk into himself , shielding his face with his arms. “please don’t kill me.”

“I deserved that .” Viktor pressed his hand against his stomach. 

Yuuri didn’t move , sinking into the kitchen floor instead. 

“You said no, and I didn’t listen. I honestly deserve far worse.”

“You’re a demon,” Yuuri's voice shook out of a soft whisper. 

“at one point I was a human.” Viktor took a step back and folded his hands behind his back. Yuuri's eyes idened. “Do you remember ?”

“Being human ? No. I’ve always been… me.” 

Yuuri sniffed wetly wiping the stray wetness from his cheeks.” For how long ?”

“A while. Time drags on when you don’t need sleep or the sun.”

Yuuri slowly stood, sliding his bento box across the counter toward himself. 

“Let me make it up to you,” viktor broke the uncomfortable silence. 

“It’s fine. Just. Don’t do it again.”

Viktor slept on the floor that night after a day of circling each other. Phichit looked wary but didn’t say a word, keeping his distance. 

  
  


“I want to know more about you,” viktor asked later that week, perched on the edge of the couch as Yuuri pretended to be normal by playing on his PlayStation 4.

“There’s not much to know ,” Yuuri was still scared to completely ignore him and see the true color of his anger. “I skate. I study business. I use mid level magic. Used. “

“Your favorite color ?”

“Blue.” Yuuri squinted. “Why does it matter?”

“Your favorite food .”

“Katsudon. Pork cutlet and rice.” Yuuri couldn’t handle being interviewed and battling at the same time. 

“Celebrity crushes ?”

Any words Yuuri had died in his throat. “N-none.”

“Lovers?” Viktor watched, his face carefully blank. At least it was no longer icy. 

“Zero,” Yuuri croaked. “Like I said. You know everything.”

“I know you like your coffee with milk and sugar. You're shy, but stubborn. You only have one friend but he’s closer than anyone with many friends.”“

“Why do you want to know so much?” Yuuri paused his game, his hands shaking too much to do anything worthwhile.

“I’m going to know you for the rest of your life.” Viktor answered simply.

“That might not be that long,” Yuuri replied without thinking. He didn’t expect the stricken look on Viktor’s face, or the sadness behind them. 

“Do you think I’ll kill you?” Viktor watched Yuuri closely. He was always dressed well-- all in black, well fitting silk shirts and tight pants with expensive looking shoes.

“You’re a demon.” Yuuri swallowed.

“I’m Viktor,” he replied.


	4. 4

Weeks passed after Phichit’s temporary death, and it soon no longer felt like a demonic ritual had been painted onto their apartment floor, or that a demon lived in their midst. Viktor took his energy during the night, snuggled close to Yuuri on his twin mattress or in quick nibbles of the soft skin of his neck. He used his magic to heal the spot, so well that the skin was barely pink and always smooth.

Viktor followed Yuuri to class, walking the halls while his protege studied Business and East Asian History before running to an ice rink-- the only place he was strictly forbidden from entering.  
Other demons would use their charms to magic their way out of bar tabs and into the hearts and laps of whoever they wanted. They would suck people dry and leave them crying for more.

Viktor watched Yuuri stretch on the living room floor, write papers curled up on the couch. He watched Yuuri’s lips part and his tongue lap up popcorn when it was Netflix Night with Phichit. Phichit, who always kept three feet away from Viktor and awkwardly changed subjects when he came home with Yuuri, gym bag and skates in hand.

Viktor didn’t understand either of them, but Yuuri…. Yuuri was the one he wanted to decode, to smooth out the crinkled code he was made of and decipher him entirely.

Yuuri let himself melt into Viktor’s lap, he gave in to the slow soft touch of Viktor’s fingers painting circles on his hand.  
Phichit stripped his pants off shamelessly in the living room, but everything Yuuri did was behind closed doors. He lid behind layers-- metaphorical and physical, even when sweat trickled down his round cheek.

“It looks like you’re dating,” Phichit said on their ninth netflix night together-- Yuuri draped across Viktor, his hand on the smooth skin under the hem of his tshirt. Yuuri blushed instantly. “We’re not. He just… needs to touch.”

“You don’t have to enjoy it though, do you?” Phichit hummed, tossing a kernel of popcorn into his mouth. “You totally do.”

“It’s not like that. It’s all his...energy. His magic.” Yuuri mumbled.

Pleasure curled in Viktor’s gut at the private thought: Yuuri was lying.  
He hadn’t used his influence on Yuuri in weeks.

“You look like you’ve been to second base, Yuuri. Real bad.”

“Why are you bringing up baseball?” Yuuri whined, tugging the bowl of popcorn back toward himself.

“I haven’t seen him without a shirt, actually.” Viktor smiled, keeping his eyes on the movie on the screen. They always picked awful American movies-- Phichit called it studying English. Probably to make Yuuri feel better about how much time they spent on the couch together.

Phichit stopped chewing, awkwardly turning his head away in Viktor’s periperal vision. “Yeah… that sounds about right for Yuuri!”

Yuuri’s back stiffened and arched away from Viktor’s stomach. He moved his arm, and Yuuri leaned back, but he could feel the tension stay steady in Yuuri’s muscles. It remained there even when Viktor tried to massage it out-- even past a soft nip of his neck.

The group went awkwardly quiet.

“You’re not sleeping in your binder, are you? That’s bad for your ri--”

“No!” Yuuri’s voice pitched high, in the tight, I’m-not-talking-about-this note he used often with Viktor. “I’m safe! I promise!”

Phichit frowned. “But you guys sleep--”

“Not like that!” Yuuri chirped, pushing his palms against his eyes. “It’s fine, Phich! Fine!”

“Tell me the truth, Yuuri,”   
Viktor regretted the force behind the command instantly, Yuuri’s soft brown eyes unfocused as he robotically answered.

“Only when Viktor’s in the bed with me,” the truth spilled from Yuuri’s lips. Viktor withdrew the magic that coerced the words from Yuuri’s lips-- the glaze soon replaced by embarrassment. 

“You need to stop,” Phichit said, this voice thick. “Please.”

“Why do you wear this ‘binder?’” Viktor hoped he had taken every tendril of force from Yuuri. He preferred him to be honest on his own terms.

“So I don’t have to… look like...what I do without it.” Yuuri mumbled.

Viktor ran a finger down Yuuri’s side-- down the thick layers of fabric--the ever present double-layered tank top he wore under every shirt.

“You change your form with garments?” In Viktor’s eyes, Yuuri was already perfect-- dark hair, smooth skin, and soft cheeks.

“..yeah,” Yuuri sounded a little defensive.

“And not magic?” Viktor frowned. He could change his appearance at will. It’s how he kept fresh and alluring to most humans.

“Not everyone is that strong. Or willing to pay the price.” Yuuri scooted out of Viktor’s lap, setting the popcorn bowl. “Most humans just have enough for one thing… my mom uses her with cooking. My dad with redirecting water. Phichit is like most people and doesn’t use any.”

“But you change your form.” Viktor watched Yuuri, how his shoulders hunched in, how he curled around himself.

“I have to,” Yuuri mumbled.

Yuuri dissapeared into his bedroom, and when Viktor stepped in twenty minutes later, a bed was rolled neatly on the floor for him-- Yuuri already curled up in bed, earbuds tucked in and blankets covering all but the top of his head.

There was nothing more to discuss.


	5. 5

Viktor circled around Yuuri the next morning, keeping his distance but worrying. He watched Yuuri make his breakfast, the man steadfastly avoiding eye contact with Viktor. It drove him crazy-- Yuuri was a private person, but he hadn’t been this shy since Viktor had stepped into his realm.

“Yuuri--” Viktor stepped into the cramped entrance into the kitchen, blocking Yuuri from moving past.

Yuuri didn’t say a word, which was somehow worse than anything he could say. He clutched the mug in his hands, his brow pinching.

Viktor leaned down, kissing the line between his eyebrows on a whim.

He expected to be smacked again. Instead, Yuuri’s face softened, and he looked up, his beautiful eyes wide and finally meeting Viktor’s.

“I’m sorry. I just want to know more about you.” Viktor breathed, resisting the urge to kiss his contract’s soft lips, which were parted deliciously in surprise.

Yuuri fidgeted with his mug instead, sipping at the milky-sweet coffee instead of giving an answer. “We can talk.”

They settled on Yuuri’s bed, his coffee resting on his nightstand. Yuuri picked at his blankets, pulling the pilled fuzz off of the fabric.

Viktor waited.

“I wear a binder… because I don’t like my body.”

Viktor wanted to interrupt and tell Yuuri that it was perfect. But he waited. This was the most Yuuri had spoken about himself.

“I’m trans.” Yuuri looked up nervously, watching Viktor’s face. “My body’s female… but I’m not.” He clarified when Viktor only blinked blankly.

“So you wear the binder… even though Phichit says its dangerous.” Viktor sat perfectly still facing Yuuri at the end of his bed. Yuuri nodded.

“I can fix that.” Viktor’s voice grew more brave. “Use the magic, give you the right bo--”

“You can’t!” Yuuri snapped, his voice louder than Viktor had ever heard from him. “You can’t just slap a bandaid on it and think it will be okay, Viktor!”  
“Why not? My magic is stronger than yours--”

“Because there’s always a catch! A sacrifice! Equal exchange! I don’t want someone else’s body. I want my body. My body, and my brain…” Yuuri sniffed wetly, wiping the tears that had spilled over his cheeks off on the back of his hand. “I want to be me...matching.”

“What about surgery?” Viktor kept his voice low, tone careful.

“My parents can barely afford to live back home... I’m training with Celestino so I can be good enough to support them, but my insurance here is only for emergency care.” Yuuri spoke quickly, his shoulders hunching as he fidgeted even more. “Even if I could afford it, I can’t afford the time to take off to recover.”

“Let me help,” Viktor itched to reach out and soothe Yuuri. But he couldn’t. Yuuri needed space.

“It takes years, Viktor. Don’t you think I know?” Yuuri bit, tears streaming easily down his cheeks. “It’s new to you but it’s my life.”

Viktor ran his thumb across his bottom lip deep in thought. “ what if we could do it without the exchange?”

Yuuri curled into himself. “I’m not sure.”

“Not your whole body. I could just take… help your shape .” Viktor held out his hand , palm. 

Yuuri sat in silence worrying his bottom lip. “I don’t know .”

“It’s okay. I’ll be here.”


	6. 6

“Hey. Hey.” Viktor felt himself being jabbed in the side. He opened an eye. It was 3 am— too early for someone who was getting used to approximating sleep for half of the day.

“Get up. I need your help.” Phichit whispered jabbing him in the side a fourth time. 

Viktor sat up, carefully extricating himself from the tangle of Yuuri's arms. While he was a heavy sleeper , he also was used to having viktor there as a self heating pillow. 

“ It’s his birthday.” Phichit explained as soon as they stepped outside of Yuuri's room. “Help decorate.”

  
  


“ At 3 am?” Viktor grunted. 

“He has practice at five .” Phichit shrugged. “ We have competition soon.”

Viktors heart started beating fast. “Competition ? Where ?”

“The Rostelecom cup is in two days.”

Viktor frowned, suddenly anger at his pointed removal from this part of Yuuri’s life.

“What am I supposed to do when he’s gone?” Viktor seethed. 

“I don’t know man. You’re not allowed in the rink. You’re definitely not allowed in Russia.” Phichit handed Viktor a plastic packet of balloons. “Now shut up and blow.”

By the time the light in Yuuri’s bedroom switched on, they had managed to construct a lopsided balloon poodle that took up the entire couch and part of the living room table. It’s sharpied eyes were a bit wall-eyed, but even Viktor found in charming. Phichit arranged Yuuri’s birthday cake in front of the coffee machine which had already began spitting and gurgling to life in this early hour.

“Happy birthday!” Phichit sang, blowing into a kazoo and throwing a handful of home made confetti up into the air. Yuuri grunted, rubbing his eyes with a yawn.

Yuuri obediently opened his mouth obediently for Phichit when requested, said best friend shoveling a forkful of chocolate cake into Yuuri’s mouth.

“Mmm…” Yuuri hummed, further placated by a mug of hot coffee.

“One more present! From me and Viktor!” Phichit turned Yuuri around, pushing his shoulders until he faced the living room.

“Oh my god,” Yuuri cooed. Phichit smirked, looking Viktor straight in the eye.

“Yuuri… can I see you before you leave today?” Viktor asked, his voice flat and even. He watched as Yuuri ate a few more bites of cake, smiling at Phichit’s banter before his second alarm rang on his phone.

Phichit snuck back to his room, leaving Viktor and Yuuri alone in the kitchen.

“I would like to extend my earlier offer… with a promise that you’ll be better by the time you compete in Rostelecom cup.

“You what?” Yuuri peered over the lip of his coffee cup, before uncomfortably tugging at the end of his binder underneath his shirt.

“I---I don’t know..” Yuuri set down his mug.

“I promise to do my best. For you.” Viktor bowed his head. He had no concept of what a human birthday was, but he knew that a balloon poodle was not enough.

“I-- I want to, but I have to get to practice, and I…”

“All you have to do is think of the body you want.” Viktor held out his hands, palms up and open.

“You won’t change everything, right? Just--- just…” Yuuri’s hand hovered over his chest.

“I promise.” Viktor repeated, hoping the conviction in his voice came through the second time.

“Oh-- okay.” Yuuri stepped forward. Viktor rested his fingertips just below Yuuri’s collarbone. He listened to the sharp gasp from Yuuri’s lips, watched the slight sway on his feet as the magic coursed through him. Viktor focused more on soothing the second he saw Yuuri’s jaw clench. There would be bruises--- aching-- but less than there usually would as Viktor redirected the pain into his own form.

Yuuri, still shy, ducked back into his bedroom, the pressure of the binder suddenly too much against his skin. Viktor waited, the skin and sinew around his heart burning. He kept his face even. He struggled, when Yuuri dove out of his bedroom and into Viktor’s chest, hugging him tightly. It hurt terribly, but it felt wonderful too. Yuuri, finally reaching out for him, his cheeks wet ,cheeks flushed and smile bright.

“Thank you,” Yuuri mumbled into Viktor’s shirt. The third alarm blared on Yuuri’s pone-- labeled ‘You gonna be late beech” by Phichit-- and he grimaced. “Are you hungry?” Yuuri asked, tilting his head to the side and exposing the long line of his neck.

“Not today. Go to practice.” Viktor used all of his strength to say those words, swallowing back the saliva that filled his mouth at that view. 

“Later?” Yuuri paused, his soft brown eyes wide as he stared up at Viktor.

This was dangerous. Yuuri was his prey, not his friend. He had already fulfilled his side of the contract. He had covered himself by following in the footsteps of the greedy, of others of his kind who played with their meal before devouring them.

Yuuri…. Yuuri was something more.

“Go to practice.” Viktor repeated. He could feel himself threatening to fall apart right then and there. Thankfully Yuuri grabbed his phone and his gear back and left the moment before Viktor crumpled to the floor.

There was something worse than hate. 

Love.


	7. 7

“Viktor!” The door burst open, Yuuri following Phichit into the apartment. Viktor hadn’t felt like leaving-- wandering the streets of Detroit or finding someone to feed off of.

He instead had spent the day cleaning and, recently, cooking. 

“We brought home some of the cake Ciao Ciao made.” Yuuri smiled softly, holding out a tinfoil wrapped paper plate. “It’s cassata cake.. Its like a cannoli, and cake… together.”

“Wow, something smells good!” Phichit pulled his shoes off, shedding his jacket by the door.

“I made katsudon. “ Viktor shrugged-- he had heart the word in passing once or twice. He hadn’t expected the reaction he got. Yuuri's eyes filled with tears immediately, and Viktor staggered back as the full force of Yuuri hit him, his arms tight around Viktor’s waist. Phichit wiggled his eyebrows.

“Wow. You got a good deal, it’s kinda lucky I died---” Phichit dropped it the second Yuuri turned, the hurt glare enough to dry his tongue and snap his mouth shut.

“Thank you. For the katsudon.” Yuuri looked up at Viktor, a shy smile gracing his lips. 

“It was nothing. I had nothing better to do in this house.” Viktor answered, entranced by how warm and welcoming Yuuri’s eyes were.

His smile dropped.

“You can leave, Viktor. You just can’t go to the rink.”

“The only place I want to be is with you. Whether you want to explain why I’m not allowed near ice or not.”

Yuuri withdrew his arms from Viktor’s waist, stepping back from him with guilt-heavy shoulders.

“It’s only one place…” 

“And the Cup?” Viktor’s voice rose. His mouth was a hard, flat line. “It wouldn’t be so bad if you’d just--”

Yuuri’s hand hovered over his heart, his beautiful soft eyes wide in fear.

“Yuuri--- I just want you to explain, I’m not going to hurt you.” Viktor bit out, irritation surging up from his gut.

Yuuri swayed on his feet, his hand pressed to his chest as he fell forward.

Phichit gasped-- Viktor moved in slow motion, catching Yuuri before his head hit the peeling linoleum floor.

“What did you do it him?” Phichit scrambled to the floor, pulling Yuuri from his grip. Viktor knelt in the kitchen, stunned by the sudden feeling of loss.

“Nothing! I was just--- mad.” Viktor blinked, his own heart aching as Phichit cradled Yuuri’s head in his lap.

“Don’t be!” Phichit slapped Viktor’s hand away, staring at Yuuri , at a loss what to do. A low moan came from his lips, and Yuuri curled into himself.

“Let me-- I just want to help.” Viktor tried to keep his emotions even, to put a block between himself and Yuuri. “I can stop the pain.”

“You’re the one who did this to him!” Phichit scooted back on the floor, freezing when Yuuri slowly unfurled, pushing himself upright.

“Yuuri,” Phichit and Viktor said in unison.

“I’m fine.” Yuuri groaned, pressing his fingers into his eyes, pushing his glasses up to his forehead. “I’m going to take a bath.” 

They sat alone in the kitchen for a moment, before Viktor leapt to his feet. He opened the door to the bathroom at the same time Yuuri sunk into the water. His chest was still covered in bruises, but some of them had already begun to turn lighter colors.

“Out.” Yuuri said flatly, sinking lower into the bath, his bandaged toes popping up out of the other end of the tub.

“I’m sorry, I was worried you’d drown,” Viktor gripped the bathroom door, the wood splintering under his grip.

Yuuri took a deep breath, his cheeks round with it as he dipped his head under water.

“Yuuri, you can’t do that for long.” Viktor stepped closer to the tub, knowing full well that he had only a minute or two before Yuuri had to resurface. Especially since he had vowed never to touch simple magic after Phichit’s ‘accident.’

Eventually Yuuri splashed out of the surface.

“If you don’t leave, I swear I will go back on my promise just to turn this entire tub into holy water,” Yuuri growled, water dripping down from his chin and over his eyes.

“That’s a good threat, Yuuri,” Viktor laughed, watching Yuuri almost get there before hardening the line of his mouth. “I just… I’m sorry. You don’t need to explain.”

Yuuri worried his bottom lip, Viktor taking the silence for what is was and leaving the bathroom. He slinked past Phichit and out the front door, walking in no particular direction.

Yuuri was the first person to summon him for revival. Viktor had been summoned twice before-- both were women and both angry. The first was a wife who had found her husband doing terrible things-- she wanted him to die in the most painful, lengthy way possible. She made sure that whenever the man seemed close to death, that he would be brought back to life just to prolong the torture.

He hadn’t had the stomach to take the man’s soul-- to taste the essence of what he had done to human children for years upon years.

He had made a quick meal of the woman, eager to move on to the next request.

The second time was a daughter, in a country where magic practitioners were few and far between. She wanted vengeance on the man who broke her mother’s heart. It was easy enough.

He had left her, intending to take his part of the deal later on-- in the twilight of her years. It was no trouble to wait after all-- years were meaningless and time slipped through Viktor’s fingers smoother than water.

Then Yuuri had called.

He was undoubtedly one of the few to sacrifice his own soul for another. Not that Viktor really checked, after all-- he hadn’t tried to stray from Yuuri more than he had to. Yuuri was more interesting than the underworld Viktor lived in-- he was stranger, more exciting. He was worth living through human time for.

What kind of demon’s pet fed the holder of their immortal soul?

Viktor slowed to a stop, pacing past an ice cream shop before his feet stuck to the pavement in front of the storefront next door.

Viktor pressed his hands to the window, peering in the window, his breath fogging up the glass as he tried to process the outright divinity of his moment.

An apricot poodle tumbled in the play-pen that walled off the front window, wrestling with a yorkie half its size-- both puppies, one absolutely perfect.   
Viktor didn’t have a wallet or whatever currency this town used-- but he didn’t have to. He pushed open the front door-- the heavy wood sticking before a brass bell announced his arrival.

“Hello! How can I help you?” a woman, probably around Yuuri’s age, looked up from cleaning a rabbit cage.

“I’ll be taking that poodle in the window,” Viktor locked eyes with the woman, whose mouth instantly went slack with the charm.

“I’ll get you her papers,” The woman replied robotically, rising stiffly to her feet.

“I’ll be taking some food and toys as well,” Viktor called out through the store. There were no other customers, but even if there was, they wouldn’t have thought it was strange. They wouldn’t have thought anything-- the hour before and after visiting the store one long blur.

“Here you go, sir.” The store owner handed him a paper bag with the puppy’s microchip number and a printed receipt. She added a bag of puppy chow, and Viktor chose a rope toy and a yellow rain jacket before he scooped the puppy into his arms.

Viktor struggled opening the door, but he didn’t have to push it open-- Yuuri was there an instant, scrambling off the couch to pull the door open. His hair was still damp, dripping onto an old faded Great Lakes tshirt.

“I’m sorry, I’m not mad at you,” Yuuri dove foward, squeezing Viktor in a tight apologetic bear hug.

“I’m the one who should be sorry,” Viktor blinked. Yuuri drew his head back, stunned and confused by the warm bump that had formed on Viktor’s chest. Before he could do more than open his mouth, the puppy wriggled, forcing the zipper of Viktor’s jacket down until her head could pop out.

“Oh my god,” Yuuri;s hands held his cheeks, and he stared.

“Happy birthday?” Viktor broke the awkward silence that came afterward.  
Yuuri’s eyes filled with tears, but his mouth was wide with a smile as he extricated the puppy from Viktor’s jacket and cradled it to his chest, burying his nose in the poodle’s curly fur.

“Wow,” Phichit added from the couch-- his serving of katsudon was finished, but two full bowls remained on the coffee table. “You didn’t transmogrify someone did you?”

“No. I got it at the store,” Viktor said shortly. He watched Yuuri, the tiny poodle licking his nose , her tail beating a steady rythmn on his lap as he carefully sat back on the couch.

“She’s just like Vicchan…” Yuuri snuffled. “You’re a good girl, yes, yess,” Yuuri cooed.

“And I thought you couldn’t beat handmade poodle balloon sculpture,” Phichit drawled. “Don’t be a stranger, sit down!” He gestured to the spot that Yuuri had left for him. Viktor sat down slowly, his eyes widening when Yuuri immediately crawled onto his lap. He adjusted his hold of the puppy, before tucking his hair behind his ear and pulling down his collar, offering the pale expanse of his neck to Viktor.

“Yuuri?” Viktor gulped. It took all his willpower not to sink his teeth into him right then and there.

“Please. Take it as a thank you.” He adjusted his grip on the wriggly puppy and Phichit flipped through channels on the TV.

“Just don’t be nasty, this is my dancing with the stars time,” Phichit chirped.

Viktor took it slow, kissing the soft, fragile skin before biting into it. Yuuri’s body jerked, but the magic to soothe him was second nature now-- and if Viktor wasn’t so entranced by the scent and taste of Yuuri, he would’ve noticed it was his hips that bucked up and not a flinch of pain.  
Yuuri’s cheeks still burned hot when Viktor licked up the blood that welled up on his skin, carefully enough that not even a drop fell onto his collar. He drank until he was sated, smoothing his finger over the wound until the skin knit itself back together, healing perfectly. Even more fulfilling than Yuuri’s blood was the simple gesture of relaxing against him, his head resting on Viktor’s shoulder.  
“That’s dangerous, Yuuri,” Phichit said under his breath-- there wasn't much that slipped past Viktor. 

Phichit never said what exactly what was dangerous. But Yuuri didn’t ask, only lowering his gaze to the wriggly puppy in his lap. “I know.”


	8. Take a Drink

“I don’t want to go,” Yuuri sniffed, picking Mochi out of his suitcase and setting the puppy back onto his bed. “But I have to.” He cooed, throwing another set of Mizuno workout sweats into the pile of his suitcase. Viktor picked it out and folded and rolled the pieces neatly, turning the chaos into careful neatness.

“Yuuri! Zara just texted me. There’s a party down on 8th, one of the sororities says all guys are free!” Phichit yelled from the living room.

Yuuri froze mid-throw, his mouth twisting uneasily. Viktor’s stomach did the same, souring at Yuuri’s unsure expression.

“You pass! Geez, let’s go and drink free beer!” Phichit yelled-- he had packed that morning. Somehow Viktor expected Yuuri to be the more responsible one. Or maybe it was that Phichit took longer because he seemed to plan what he wore more than Yuuri did?

“It’s your birthday! Free! Beer!” Phichit yelled again. Yuuri smiled, shaking his head. 

“Can I go?” Viktor bit back a smile at Yuuri’s innocent, wide-eyed reaction.

“Oh! Oh god, of course--” Yuuri stuttered, flustered. “Y-you don’t have to ask.”

Viktor hummed noncommittally-- he could say that it is polite to ask for time from people, but he knew by now that such platitudes were useless on Yuuri.

Yuuri wore his cable-knit sweater over a button-down shirt with little alligators printed over the pinstriped fabric and jeans. Viktor decided that his glamour would adjust to whatever would fit the best-- which ended up being tight leather pants and a low-cut tee. Yuuri looked cozy, Viktor aimed for sexy, and Phichit...was Phichit. He decided to wear a backward baseball cap, a hawaiian shirt, capris and knee-high hamster print socks. He wore that and somehow Yuuri  _ wasn’t  _ embarrassed by him.

It was a short walk in the cold air to the party, and Yuuri spent the first hour by Viktor, nursing a red solo cup and gently scratching the house cat’s head while the floor vibrated and bounced with bass.

“Did Yuuri really agree to come out?” Viktor dipped by Phichit, who was already dancing with an equally awfully-dressed girl by the sorority’s kitchen. 

Phichit grinned. “What, does it look like he’s not having fun?”

“None at all,” Viktor downed his third glass of punch that was only punch by virtue of being bright pink. He looked over at Yuuri--who was taking a carefully angled picture of the tabby cat.

“How many drinks?” Phichit picked up another glass of punch with a wide, not-so-innocent smile.

“That’s his fourth. He should--”

Phichit rested a hand on Viktor’s arm. “Oh, honey. Welcome to Yuuri.” He set down the glass and instead cupped his hands around his mouth. “Yuuri~! Time for shots-shots-shots shots!” Phichit bounced up and down on his feels.

If Viktor didn’t know any better, Yuuri looked kind of relieved. He came over, blushing from the girlishy squeals as he linked arms with Phichit and downed five shots in a row. By the time they slammed down the last plastic shot glass, Yuuri was finally relaxed, his smile wide and body loose and warm. It collided with Viktor’s, his hands going to pull down the v-neck down over Viktor’s pecs.

“Hey,” Yuuri slurred, his eyes wide and shiny and hands warm and soft. Viktor suddenly felt very hungry… and maybe something else.

“Hey,” Yuuri repeated, eyes narrowing at the lack of response.

“Yes?” Viktor smiled-- he could feel Yuuri’s breath on his chest.

“You’re bored. Let’s dance.” Yuuri pulled him toward the living room, where the most people were bopping along to the stereo system. Viktor followed obediently, slouching over so Yuuri could walk and hold onto him at the same time.

Viktor had expected Yuuri to grind against him, or an embarrassing chaste school waltz. But instead Yuuri pulled him into an expert salsa, moving and spinning and dipping Viktor to a fast-beat pop song. Sure, Yuuri dropped him onto the carpet during the second song, but Viktor had long since fallen for him.

“Okay lover boy, our flight is in four hours. We gotta go or face Ciao Ciao’s wrath,” Phichit came for Yuuri past 1 am, when Yuuri had shed his shoes and socks and jeans and had retired from dancing to sitting on Viktor’s lap on a threadbare couch. 

“We have to leave?” Viktor whined, biting his lip as Yuuri hopped up, four feet away from walking out in mid-winter Detroit in bare feet and a long sweater that just touched his perfectly thick and naked thighs. “Yuuri has to get dr---”

“Good luck,” Phichit laughed. “Yuuri, shoes!”

Yuuri turned with baby-doe eyes, “I don’t want shoes,” He said simply, and Viktor gave in-- he would carry Yuuri rather than say no to that face.

“Yuuri, shoes or I’m eating your secret ice cream.” Phichit put his hands on his hips and Yuuri’s eyes widened before he angrily kicked his feet into his sneakers. Viktor collected Yuuri’s jeans and socks, wishing that night would last another hour.

Yuuri wasn’t sober when Celestino came to pick them up. Phichit pushed him out the door before their coach could lay eyes on Viktor, their last goodbye a soft brushing of fingers in passing after a solid three hours of hands and exploring under Yuuri’s sheets.

Viktor was lonely.

It had been five minutes in an empty apartment and it had been unbearable.

Viktor had promised, but technically his word had only applied to the Detroit Rink.

It did not apply to Yubileiny rink.

Nor did it apply to Viktor’s way of travel, which was not beckon to the whim of wind and giant machines. For he was a demon, and demons are not humans and subject to human law and travel.

Viktor could feed Mochi dinner in Detroit, the little poodle and see Yuuri skate in the same hour.

What could go wrong?


	9. The Cup

Viktor pulled his fingers through Mochi’s hair, refreshing the webpage with the live-tweets of the Rostelecom cup. He did not know exactly understand how he knew how to do that. Some demons he kept company with hated all technology- born and made in eras where no such thing existed. It came naturally to Viktor, through borrowed technology. Yuuri’s computer was unlocked, left on the table as the training schedule in Russia would not afford him time to use such bulky electronics.

Viktor had waited long enough. He had waited the hours it took to travel to Russia-- even with winds charmed in their favors, planes still took hours to traverse the earth. Humans could not easily teleport themselves--there was certainly magic users who could, but apparently planes carried hundreds of people. Such a scale would definitely result in misplaced or missing cells and organs.

Luckily, Viktor was not human.

He counted down the hours he had calculated it would take. He waited while he imagined Yuuri dragging his suitcase across an airport, sleeping in a cramped seat, falling face-first into a hotel bed.

He waited until order was announced-- most fan pages had calculated it correctly. Yuuri would go fourth in the first men’s group.

Viktor would travel just in time to see Yuuri skate to the center of the rink.

He was glad he had adopted the poodle, as it was needy and filled the empty time between Yuuri’s hungover departure and the time Viktor would leave. He could have easily followed Yuuri, but something kept him back. Whether it was the stubborn force with which both Phichit and Yuuri refused Viktor admittance to the rink, or an overall forboding feeling in the seat of his stomach… He didn’t know.

Yuuri could only keep him away for so long.

\--

Yuuri blew his nose into the tissue, tucking it back into the handmade poodle case Yuuko had modeled after Viktor Nikiforov’s. Vicchan’s eyes were crooked, and his mouth embroidery fading, but it was his.

Yuuri didn’t feel quite as bad using it now that Viktor wasn’t-really-totally-dead.

“You can do this, Yuuri. Chin up.” Celestino grinned, Yuuri’s knees feeling weak and wobbly. He took another sip of water from his bottle, watching JJ pump his fists in excitement at the kiss-and-cry.

“Say it, Yuuri!” Celestino cheered. 

Yuuri smiled nervously, “I--I can do it.” He repeated. Celestino really was trying. The problem was, his anxiety wasn’t about whether he could do it or not… it was about doing it, and everyone else.

Yuuri pushed off the center ice, arranging himself into his beginning pose. The music started, and he started building speed for his first combination. He spun, landing on the right foot, sweeping his arms up and sliding across the rink. His eye caught a flash of silver as he led into his first toe loop.

The realization hit the same time his toe pick caught the ice and he slammed into the ice.

Viktor’s awed expression turned into concern, along with a sympathetic sigh from the crowd.

Yuuri picked himself up automatically, his arms reaching back into the next step, but he froze, heart beating stattaco-- off the beat of his music.

-

He frowned as Yuuri stared at him like he was a ghost, panic etched on his expression as he dropped his choreography and ran off the ice, colliding with Viktor with the collective force of crossing the rink. He used Viktor’s lack of balance to his advantage, pulling him by the collar of his shirt past the kiss-and cry and down the hallway, past the green room and into a storage closet.

“You’re going to ruin your skates--” Viktor gulped, the metal cutting into ugly brown carpet before they were plunged into claustrophobic darkness.

Yuuri answered with a broken sob, his breath uneven wheezing. Viktor could smell his sweat and feel the heat from his skin, his fingers still locked in the fabric of his shirt.

“H-how could you--” Yuuri choked out, clutching his chest when anger flared in Viktor’s own chest.

“How could I? I wanted to see you. Isn’t this your whole life?” Viktor bit back. He felt regret as soon as a pitiful noise escaped Yuuri’s lips, and he let go of Viktor to press a hand to his heart, and the marked seal Viktor had put there. Viktor took a deep breath, willing himself to calm down.

“I told you… no..” Yuuri collapsed back against the shelving, disturbing a few bottles and cans of cleaning supplies. “For a reason.”

“But you would never tell me the reason!” Viktor growled. “Why is it my fault?”

Yuuri pulled his fingers through his hair, tugging at it, his eyes unfocused and breathing still uneasy. Viktor reached out, taking Yuuri’s chin and tilting it up. 

“Tell me,” He commanded, closing his eyes so he wouldn’t have to face Yuuri as his mouth moved not of his own accord.

“Everyone knows who you are here. Viktor Nikiforov. The best skater in the world, until you committed suicide two years ago.”

Viktor’s hand dropped from Yuuri’s chin to cover the shaking that overcame it.

He was a demon. Ageless-- with no memory of his beginning and no need for his own ending. 

But that didn’t line up with how familiar the smell of ice and chill of the air was when he stepped into Yuuri’s competition.

“You showed yourself to everyone, and I h-h-ave no idea how to explain this…” Yuuri’s choked, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. 

“I’ll erase their memories--”

“The entire  **worlds?”** Yuuri hiccuped, pushing Viktor away, batting at him angrily. “You were on camera, a in--nternational event--” Yuuri sank down in the dark closet, curling into a little ball.

“I can fix it, I’ll figure it out, I promise--” Viktor panicked. The fact that Yuuri had known him, knew what he was, before he was who he was now-- hadn’t clicked yet at all. All that mattered was the sour despair he could feel Yuuri was drowning in.

“It’s all over--” Yuuri wailed, his grip white-knuckled around his knee. “Y-you can’t f-f-ix it. It’s too late.”

Viktor felt tears sting his eyes for the first time in his conscious life. “Yuuri-- I just-- I just wanted to see you.”

“I-if you just take me now, people will j-j-ust think you were an o-omen,” Yuuri hiccuped, his fingernails pulling at the lycra of his skating costume.

“Yuuri-- no. No! We can do something else. We can fix it without you dying.” Viktor’s throat seized around the word. 

The incandescent bulb above their heads buzzed to life, flooding the small room with light.

“You won’t be the one to fix it.” A feminine voice corrected Viktor.

“M-minako-sensei…?” Yuuri hiccuped. The door hadn’t opened, but a third presence joined them in cramped quarters. 

“You’ve done enough.”

Viktor barely opened his mouth before he felt the burning twist of a holy blade through his heart, the point casting a shadow on Yuuri’s face just as it twisted into horror.

\--

“Stop!” Yuuri screamed, scrambling to his feet before he fell back, his heart stopping as the form in front of him flickered and twisted, shrinking into nearly nothing.

Minako-sensei-- if it was really her-- shook off the remainder of what-had- been-Viktor onto the floor. A horrified whimper escaped Yuuri’s throat as he stared at the twisted monstrosity-- some of it was human, but the whole of it was not. 

“A demon’s true form isn’t as pretty, is it?” Minako said plainly.

“V-v--Viktor..” Yuuri hiccuped, crawling until he could gingerly scoop up not-Viktor into his lap, stroking the small lock of silver hair left on this form.

“Yuuri--- don’t. You don’t have to be under the control of a demon. You don’t.” Minako’s cool demeanor fell. “Please. Don’t end up like him.”

Tears streamed down Yuuri’s cheeks without him even blinking. “What?”

“We should have talked about this. I should have found out before.” Minako’s shoulders fell. “Of course you would give up everything for him.”

“You don’t understand.” Yuuri bit out, hugging the armful of what he had left of Viktor. “This is my fault--”

“Lost souls don’t turn into demons, Yuuri. Heaven wouldn’t be so cruel. Viktor didn’t commit suicide.” Minako spoke over him, her voice loud and strained. 

Any words Yuuri had died on his lips. 

“Viktor was used in black magic, and as a result he was torn apart. Most of him resolved into a demon-- but he’s dangerous. His soul is in pieces, it’s ruined. I can’t let him ruin you too.” Minako knelt down, brushing Yuuri’s hair back lovingly. “If it takes all of heaven, I’ll make sure to save you, I promise.”

“I’m sorry.” Yuuri broke the long silence between them, finishing the final rune, written in the blood that coated his fingers. Yuuri stood up-- Minako frozen and locked to the spot by the spell. He pushed past her, folded around Viktor as he burst out of the closet and into the hallway.

\---

Viktor opened his eyes to a scene much like he had seen when he had first met Yuuri. 

The entire floor of the hotel room was painted with spell runes and summoning circles, the innermost ring made out of blood, the rest with a charcoal stick that had since blurred. Yuuri’s grimoire still sat in the middle of it, open to fluttering pages.

It felt awfully familiar, as if he had seen a similar one before.

One in his last moments, which he could remember behind the sharp edge of his migraine.

Viktor slowly sat up, his limbs feeling like he was made out of lead. His stomach hurt, but the skin was smooth and unblemished. He didn’t even have the scar from his knee surgery he had just after the Olympics. His mouth felt dry and ashy, and he realized the pain for what it was--hunger.

And not hunger for energy. His stomach growled, not his heart, as he realized he was the innermost-ring, and Yuuri lay within reach, curled into a twisted ball.

His heart dropped-- the position Yuuri was in looked painful. He feared the worst as he scrambled forward, lifting Yuuri's face up off the floor. 

“Yuuri? He shifted, cradling Yuuri in his arms-- dried blood covered his hands and sleeves, and he was a limp dead weight in his arms. “Oh god, Yuuri--” Viktor sobbed. “Don’t sacrifice yourself for me,” He cried.

He knew he was different. He felt whole.

He felt pain.

He felt human.

If the distant memories were any clue, they had only traded placed, Yuuri’s soul torn apart to mend Viktor’s.

Yuuri breathed softly, but  _ Yuuri  _ himself did not reach beyond that, a dim flicker that didn’t even reach his closed eyes.

The door clicked with the slice of a card key, before the handle twisted.

“Oh, no.” Phichit’s voice was hollow. “Yuuri.”


	10. Water

“Please help him,” Viktor sobbed past the knot in this throat.

“Why can’t you? You’re the one with the ineffable great power!” Phichit snapped back, skidding on his knees and kneeling next to Viktor and Yuuri. Yuuri, who didn’t so much as twitch, his head cradled into Viktor’s shoulder.

“I… I don’t… I… have nothing.” Viktor blinked back the tears that stung at his eyes. “Yuuri did something… and I’m human.”

“Make him undo it then!” Phichit pushed one of Yuuri’s eyelids up, his pensive expression tightening when he saw only glazed-over unfocused hazel eyes.

“The puppy is home alone, and I can’t go back--- I--- I remember. It’s been two years, and I’m dead. I don’t have anything.”

“I’ll call Sarah, she’s good and breaking into things anyway-- what about Yuuri?” Phichit prodded his best friends cheek. “Did you kill him?”

“Never,” Viktor hissed, pulling Yuuri back and pressing him into his chest. “I went to see Yuuri--”

“I know that. And so does the whole skating community.”

“We hid, but an angel found us, and put their blade through my heart--”

“Sounds like bullshit, but okay.” Phichit inched forward, pressing his fingers against Yuuri’s wrist, searching for a pulse.

“Then I woke up here. Like this.”

Phichit seemed to calm somewhat, worrying his bottom lip. “So Yuuri’s a demon now?”

Viktor looked over the limp body in his arms. “...not yet.”

“What, does he have to file paperwork or something?” Phichit bit out, his track pants smeared with charcoal dust. 

Viktor stared down at Yuuri, and his cherubic soft cheeks. “I think it depends on how you want to go.” He said softly, running his thumb along Yuuri’s bottom lip-- chapped and chewed until it was bit through.

“You wanted to be a demon?” Phichit sat back, his eyes steadily on his best friend. “I don’t know a lot about Russia, but aren’t they generally bad?”

Viktor ignored him. “From what I remember… before… I wasn’t happy. I didn’t feel alive. I probably was an easy target.”

“But.. you took your own life?” Phichit’s voice softened.

“I don’t remember it being a choice.” Viktor sounded hollow. “But that doesn’t matter. I have to keep Yuuri safe.”

“I don’t know if you can help-- you’ve been dead for years, Viktor. You can’t even leave this hotel without someone seeing you and beating your ass for being a tasteless doppelganger.” Phichit hummed. “I mean, we definitely lost the deposit for the hotel room. Yuuri is the only one of us that used magic.”

“We can pay someone to clean it.” Viktor answered automatically.

Phichit frowned.

“Viktor… Yuuri ran off the ice in the middle of his free skate. He forfeited… that means no prize money. Yuuri doesn’t have 200 bucks to hire a mage.”

“We have to do something, Phichit.I can talk to Yakov.” 

Phichit stood up, dusting off the charcoal dust from his knees and digging through a suitcase that had been pushed to the edge of the room.

“You’re dead, Viktor. But I have a credit card and a hat I can sacrifice.”

“Thank you,” Viktor sighed.

“My parents are going to kill me. But this is for Yuuri. Not for you.” Phichit looked up from his phone, as he tapped wildly at the screen. “Yuuri’s from Hasetsu.”

“Hasetsu?” Viktor remembered the name from history class, the village mentioned in every class from primary through university. It was one of the few places in the world where magic users made up more than 10 percent of the population. Hasetsu itself was the only place where it neared a hundred percent. “He…why? Why did he leave?” 

“To skate, duh.” Phichit pulled open Japan Airline’s website. “Before...this.” Phichit gestured vaguely around him. “Yuuri only used magic to cook. He really wasn’t into it.”

“But… working with souls is the highest order of magic.” Viktor squeezed Yuuri again, but he only lay limply in his arms. 

“His mom gave him that grimoire… but just because you can do it doesn’t mean you will. Except… Yuuri did. For you.” Phichit scanned his credit card into his iphone, tapping in the information.  
“I’m sending everything to Yuuri’s phone. I’ll get it from the locker room. There’s a flight to Fukuoka tonight, and that’s the closest you can get. You’ll have to get on a train for two hours, but once you get there with Yuuri…. I think they’ll help you.”

“Is Yuuri a mage celebrity?” The question popped out of Viktor’s mouth before he could really think.

“No. But his parents own the only bath house in town. He told me in high school he was the only person working the tourism booth. Unless you can suddenly speak Japanese..”

“There’s probably a spell---” Viktor cut himself off at Phichit’s harsh expression.

“There is. And it’s called Google Translate, beech.” Phichit tried to soften his remark with one of his obscure Youtube-references, but Viktor still felt unsettled.

Did he really know anything about Yuuri?

“Help me get him into the bath tub, alright?” Phichit put down his phone on the twin-bed that had been pushed up against the wall. “The mage will be here in forty minutes. I don’t really want to explain all the blood on him.

“Ah-- No! I can’t… I can’t see him naked!” Viktor stuttered, his cheeks burning hot.

Phichit blinked. “I’m pretty sure I spent most of the last few months watching you make out with him, with tongue.” Phichit drawled flatly. “But okay.”

“H...he didn’t want me to see him without a shirt, I can’t violate that trust.”

“White people sure are wierd about baths. Hand him over.” Phichit wiggled his fingers at Viktor.

“No,” Viktor bit. “I’ll help. He’s probably not comfortable like this.”

Phichit just sighed, opening the door to the bathroom, metallic screeching as he pulled up the plug to fill up the bath. Viktor hesistated, propping Yuuri up against the wall on the bathroom floor and carefully pulling the zipper down the back of his neck. He peeled the mesh and swavorski off of Yuuri’s skin, relieved that his mark as a demon had not disappeared off the earth.

“Wait, he wasn’t wearing a binder?” Phichit looked over from the eggshell white bathtub, straight brows furrowing.

“I...helped…” Viktor tugged the shirt further down, hesitating at Yuuri’s hips.

“Oh, please. “ Phichit scoffed. He pulled the fabric from Viktor’s hands, yanking the rest of Yuuri’s skating costume off. He pulled off Yuuri’s dance belt, pulling the handmade knit packer out of it and shaking the phallic object at Viktor. “Not that scary, is it?”

Viktor’s embarrassment turned to anger. “It’s not… that. It’s that Yuuri doesn’t know this is going on.”

Phichit’s face softened, and he turned to pull a face towel off of the rack. “You’re right.” He said softly. “Why won’t he wake up?” Phichit’s voice cracked as he hooked his arms under Yuuri’s armpits and dragged him toward the bath tub.

Viktor scrambled to help, holding onto Yuuri’s bruised and battered foot even after they lowered him into the bathtub.

“I feel him. Close by. I think… I think he fixed me, and he gave himself up to do that.” Viktor blinked rapidly, willing himself to look Yuuri over once Phichit had plunged the face towel into the water and arranged it between Yuuri’s legs. The bath water was already turning red-- but Yuuri seemed uninjured otherwise. Small, soft. Utterly beautiful.

“Well… tell him to go back,” Phichit’s voice shook as he cupped his hands in the water and poured it over Yuuri’s head. “No offense… But he’s my best friend.”

“I want the same, to be honest.” Viktor breathed. 

Phichit stepped out to let the mage-for-hire in, Viktor remaining in the bathroom to add hot water to the tub, buying time until they could use the hotel room again.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” Viktor hummed, pulling Yuuri up to sit against the back of the tub and the towels-turned pillow. “Quit holding out on me. Or Phichit. I’m sure I deserve it.” Viktor forced a smile, but it felt ill-fitted, even though it was well-practiced.

“I’m sorry. You didn’t need to do this, you know.” He continued. It felt a little silly-- he knew that Yuuri wouldn’t suddenly open his eyes and answer. He wasn’t even sure if Yuuri would ever respond, or move again. “It wasn’t worth it. You shouldn’t have.”

“Are you in there?” Viktor felt his chest tighten, this throat closing with emotion. “Please. Please be there.” He pulled Yuuri’s hand from the bathwater, pressing his lips to Yuuri’s knuckles and squeezing. He squeezed until he felt he pushed all the blood from Yuuri’s fingers. He blinked away the tears that blurred his vision, heart jumping at the twitch of fingers between his hands, and the decidedly-unhappy slant of Yuuri’s lips.

“Yuuri!” Viktor sang, heart jumping, and he felt like he was going to throw up. He rubbed Yuuri’s hand between his fingers, searching Yuuri’s peacefully neutral face for any more signs of movement.

He could doubt. It could be wishful thinking. 

But he felt a little more like believing.


	11. Hasestsu

Phichit left Viktor to dress Yuuri after pulling clothes from his suitcase, tossing Yuuri’s cat-eared knit cap to Viktor. “You’ll need this to get to the airport.” He said, taking some time in the hotel sink to wash the blood off of Yuuri’s competition credentials before going back to gather his things from the rink.

Viktor arranged Yuuri like a rag doll, tugging pants over his hips and shirts down over damp hair. He pushed Yuuri’s eyelids up with his thumbs, chest squeezing when Yuuri’s eyes were unfocused and glassy. The hands that had wandered over Viktor’s body not long ago now lay limp and curled on top of the bed sheets. With the spell circle gone and blood cleaned, everything looked ordinary and Yuuri could just be asleep.

But the reality was far worse than that.

Viktor packed the grimoire last, ready to go when Phichit returned with Yuuri’s gym bag and a plastic pharmacy bag.

“You went to Sunflower?” Viktor blinked. It was the only mage-run pharmacy in Russia, and enchanted goods were banned by the ISU.

“Yeah.” Phichit pushed the hotel-branded wheelchair into the room with a grunt. “I figured you’d be too sad to think, and you need to make it to Hasetsu.”

Viktor bit his tongue. “You got us a flight, though.” Viktor watched Phichit slide Yuuri’s glasses back onto his nose with a tender look.

“He still needs to eat, and…. He basically needs to live.” Phichit muttered. “He’s probably not going to chew anything, so I got some Pediasure, and some.. Um.. charmed stuff. Yuuri wouldn’t want you to know.”

Viktor turned away, letting Phichit tend to Yuuri. He helps him arrange Yuuri into the wheelchair, and they both carry Yuuri’s luggage to the taxi stand in front of the hotel.

“Good luck. Don’t fuck this up.” Phichit said as a farewell, leaning down to squeeze Yuuri around his shoulders. Yuuri is held up in the chair by a creatively placed belt, and he doesn’t respond.

“Thank you,” Viktor says, and he means it.

~

The red-eye flight is a blessing, and they make it through security without issue because of it. Viktor spends the time between checkin and boarding trying to get Yuuri to swallow down a bottle of the meal replacement shake Phichit packed for him. His first try is messy, but after a while Viktor figures out the perfect angle to tilt Yuuri’s neck to get him to swallow. 

Yuuri gets the window seat on the plane, propped up by a few overpriced pillows from airport stores. Viktor falls asleep halfway through the flight, laying against Yuuri’s side. He feels normal for the few seconds he wakes up during landing, before the reality trickles back down and the nerves tangle him up again. Yuuri is no more responsive than he was when they get on the plane, taking a long ride into Osaka proper before transferring onto a bullet train. Viktor panics at the attention they get on the platform-- multiple uniformed staff-- but it turns out that trains aren’t wheelchair accessible, and they pantomime and worry before they find a ramp in time for the trains arrival.

Viktor has to carry Yuuri onto the next train-- a local to Hasetsu, which is an old train that sways on the tracks and only departs once an hour. They are the only passengers on the train, despite it nearing the evening commute, and Viktor is exhausted. He stretches his legs across the middle of the train, watching as they pass dense forests and run-down buildings.

Viktor can’t help but lose a little hope.

They’re three stops away from Hasetsu station when the first person steps onto the train. It’s a woman with grown-out bleached hair, her arms laden down with a wooden crate full of dried seaweed. Viktor and the woman naturally trade stares, being the only passengers on the train. Her brown eyes move across Viktor, the folded wheelchair and pile of luggage, and the limp man pressed between the end of the bench and Viktor’s side.

The crate falls to the ground, and Viktor’s heart siezes with panic as the worse word escapes from her lips.

“Yuuri?”

The woman crosses the train car, going right to Yuuri, her surprise melting into concern when he doesn’t reply. She looks from Yuuri, to Viktor and back.

Viktor finally realizes the resemblance-- they have the same unruly hair and arched eyebrows, though the woman’s are pierced.

Viktor doesn’t say anything, even when the woman pulls off his--Yuuri’s-- knit hat off of his head.

“Viktor Nikiforov.” She says evenly, eerily quiet. 

“Help us, please.” Viktor begs in English, hoping she will understand. Help seems to be universal, or she knows something is wrong. Obviously, something is wrong, because Viktor just traveled across the world with an unconscious man he loves, and Viktor has been dead for two years but has never felt more whole.

~

The woman pulls out of her phone instead of talking to Viktor, but when they arrive at Hasetsu, she abandons the crate of seaweed and carries Yuuri over her shoulder instead. Viktor scoots the crate onto the platform before gathering up Yuuri’s things and following her up the escalator. Outside the ticket gates are more people that look like Yuuri-- a greying man with a bow tie, a plump older woman, and the angel that had put her sword through Viktor’s heart.

Viktor’s fear is dulled by something new to him, and he follows Yuuri to the crowd.

“Mari---” the woman gasps, before the whole family dissolves into conversation. Viktor can barely pick out Yuuri’s name, but its obvious as they fret over him and cradle him in their arms. Mari says something about Viktor, because they all turn to look at him at the same time.

But Viktor doesn’t feel panic. Instead he feels oddly calm, and once he actually looks at their faces he somehow knows who they are. Yuuri’s mother. Father. Sister. 

“Help him,” Viktor swallows down a swell of panic. “Something’s wrong.”

Yuuri’s mother steps forward, her soft fingers pressing lightly against his heart, her voice musical as she says something soothing in Japanese.

“Yuuri used his soul to sew yours together,” Mari clumsily translates to English. “We can see him in you.”

“How do I give it back?” Viktor swallowed thickly, watching as Yuuri’s father and the mysterious angel lift Yuuri into a van and buckle him in.

“You can’t…” Mari speaks after her mother. “But… we can help Yuuri fill back up.” Her eyes are on her brother, even though her attention is on her mother’s words. “Love… and care. Nuture.” Mari’s voice lifts as if she is unsure of the translation.

Yuuri’s mother pats Viktor’s shoulder, ushering him to the van. Yuuri’s head lolls against his chest, his arms hanging by his side. But he still breathes slow, long breaths.

~

Yuuri’s first real meal is a bowl of okayu, rice porridge cooked by his mother while his father pushed Viktor to the baths attached to their home. It feels amazing to wash the day of travel off, but Viktor feels like something is missing. They eat together in a dining room, Yuuri propped up on a half-chair made to sit on tatami floor. Viktor is served katsudon while Yuuri’s mother feeds him, spoonful by spoonful, cheerfully talking to him as if he could reply. 

The angel sits in a corner of the room, looking bereft.

But Viktor is irrevocably tied with Yuuri, and they treat him with the same kindness. Viktor wakes up the next morning unharmed, still on his futon next to Yuuri’s bed. He doesn’t leave Yuuri’s room, spending the whole day staring at the posters of himself plastered on every wall. Yuuri’s mother comes in to feed Yuuri breakfast, but even after a full day of love and nurture, there is no change in Yuuri. 

Viktor stays in Yuuri’s room, the days adding up to weeks. He helps Hiroko move Yuuri, adjust his position and to exercise his muscles as he sleeps. 

The cherry blossoms bloom outside of Yuuri’s window, and Viktor still does not leave. He only follows Yuuri-- follows him to the park where his family rolls his stolen wheelchair onto a picnic blanket, and cherry blossom petals cling to his cheek without being brushed away. They get drunk together, and Yuuri’s father is almost as fun as his son when he is drunk. But weeks have passed, and the only change is that Yuuri now swallows on his own. Viktor thinks he can see Yuuri smile in the early spring sunlight, but hope is a double edged sword.

Phichit calls Yuuri every day. In between the calls, Viktor uses Yuuri’s phone to scroll through ebooks, reading them aloud as he lays next to his soul-mate. He switches between English and Russian, taking breaks to rest his eyes by threading fingers through Yuuri’s hair.

“Vicchan,” Hiroko says one day, while Viktor holds Yuuri up in his lap, his arms wrapped around his waist. “You need… Outside. Break.” Her english is heavy accented, and Viktor can’t help but imagining what Yuuri sounded like when he first learned english.

“I can’t.” Viktor murmured. It had been nearly two months. The paparazzi have come and gone. No one knows Viktor is here but Phichit and Yuuri’s family. Viktor still has no idea how to fix this.

“Ah, ohayou.” Hiroko coos, and Viktor snaps to attention. Yuuri’s eyes are open, heavy-lidded and sleepy, but open. 

“Yuuri!” Viktor squeezes him close, desperately wanting to hear his voice. But Yuuri is still limp, and his head lolls back and moves with Viktor as they rock back and forth. His gaze is dreamy, but his eyes follow his mother after Viktor scoots out from underneath him.

“Yuuri, Yuuri, Yuuri.” Viktor grabs his hands, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. His hands are warm and limp, but his lips curl into a soft smile.


	12. Mark

“Vicchan. Walk.” Hiroko repeated. Viktor’s hands shake from the sheer adrenaline of seeing Yuuri’s honey brown eyes slide from his mother to Viktor’s mouth and back again.

“I can’t leave Yuuri. He just woke up.” Viktor whined. But Yuuri’s mouth moved slowly, and his lips curved around a word.

“Iku.” His voice is rough from disuse-- just like his mid-season muscle mass wasted away over the past months. Yuuri held out for so long, and not only was he awake, but talking.

“Go.” Hiroko translated, as she took a moment to tenderly ruffle Yuuri’s hair.   
So Viktor awkwardly lifted Yuuri in his chair down into the genkan entryway and out onto the dirt and gravel path that led to the main gate of the onsen. It was by no means a smooth ride, and once he got to the main road Viktor stopped to readjust Yuuri in his chair and tighten the miscellaneous belts and buckles that kept him upright. Yuuri’s cheeks flushed a cute pink, but his eyes remained train on Viktor’s fingers.

“....happy?” Yuuri said, and it sounded like every word was a battle to get past his lips. But every word was so precious when Viktor had spent so long trying to come to terms with the fact that it was his fault he may not hear Yuuri ever again. 

“Very happy.” Viktor hummed, his fingers pausing over Yuuri’s heart and the scar that still lived there. He had tried commanding Yuuri to wake up-- trying to get insanely angry or incredibly sad to jump start Yuuri’s heart and wake him up. But it seemed to only be a mark. “Now that you’re up, can you show me around your hometown?”

Yuuri’s mouth twitched into a smile, some light behind his eyes belying so many more words than he could say. He rolled his eyes, his mouth not obeying before his tongue slowly curled around the word “Left.”

Viktor pushed Yuuri’s chair to the ‘left’and walked slowly down the street. He paused at every intersection, giving Yuuri time to speak and following his directions until they walked onto the local shopping arcade. About a third of the storefronts were shuttered behind aluminum grates, but the stores that were open were bustling. Children left an ice cream store with soft serve cones that sparkled like galaxies, and adults left the store next door with paper wrapped packages of sage and braided pine needles with spells painted in black ink. Next to the spell store was a modern grocery with piles of oranges and leafy greens amongst fluorescent red and yellow sale signs. Viktor recognized a store-- Lawson, a blue and white convenience store from his previous stints in Japan. It was often the only place he visited in Japan during competitions. It was where he bought breakfast instead of going to the perfectly good catered hotel breakfasts. Something was more exciting about buying sandwhiches in a plastic triangle that fell apart perfectly with the pull of a tab. It was so much more exciting to buy a refrigerator case chicken breast wrapped in plastic and hand it to the cashier, only to get it back steaming hot and tucked into a plastic bag with a pair of chopsticks and a miniature spoon for the pudding he always broke his diet plan for.

“Yuuri, let’s go!” Viktor gasped, nearly running down the middle of the shopping arcade. He had converted the cash he had pulled from an airport ATM machine to yen a couple weeks ago, but had never left the house to spend it. The Katsuki’s fed and housed him, and to the outside world he had been dead for years. But with Yuuri that didn’t matter. The doors pulled open automatically and set out a gust of cold air-conditioned air. Viktor pulled a liter paper carton of peach water from a case, before pausing to grab a carton of mugicha. A few more steps and he grabbed a bag of potato chips dipped in chocolate. By the time they got into the corner with all the fresh food, Vitkor had an armful of snacks. “Fruit sandwhich.” Viktor gasped, trying tot grab the triangle of whipped cream, white bread and tropical fruits arranged artfully in its packaging. He wanted Yuuri to try everything-- more than he wanted to eat it himself. 

“...lap.” Yuuri said with a smile. Viktor paused and considered it for a moment before he stacked a few of the snacks onto Yuuri’s lap. It made it much easier to grab the sandwich and the rice ball next to it. He grabbed a pudding, before going back and getting a second cup. He loved Yuuri, but he didn’t want to share the small cup of lightly sweet nostalgia.

Viktor dumped everything onto the counter, ready to pay. The cashier said their usual stream of polite meaningless phrases-- except this time it ended in ‘Katsuki-san.” Viktor blinked, before looking at Yuuri. Yuuri hadn’t been able to lift a finger, but the cashier spoke directly to him in quick Japanese. Yuuri smiled, his head bobbing lightly as another foreign work passed Yuuri’s lips and escaped Viktor. It seemed like the Katsuki’s were a local institution after all.

“Left,” Yuuri’s voice grew stronger after a sip of peach water from the paper carton and store-provided plastic straw. They wound through blocks of stores and houses until Yuuri’s directions led them into a small park with a rusted playground.  
“Is this a special place for you?” Viktor rolled them to a stop under a tree, the buds just starting to unfurl. 

“Vicchan…” 

It took Viktor a second to realize that Yuuri was talking about his late poodle and not using the name Hiroko used on Viktor. He nodded solemnly, before his stomach dropped to his feet.

“Mochi?”

Viktor’s mouth went dry. “Phichit gave her to a poodle rescue. It was a few thousand dollars to get her records and then she would have had to spend weeks in quarantine in Fukuoka… and that meant leaving you…” Viktor had no doubt if he could, he would have spent every last cent on bribing Mochi’s way into Japan. Rules were rules, but cash was cash. But Viktor had 100.000 yen to his name and a gravestone between him and his bank accounts.

Yuuri didn’t say anything more-- a small blessing, because his physical reaction was enough to make Viktor sick. Tears streamed down his cheek, and he bit his bottom lip-- dead quiet, his head bowed so that the tears dropped onto the plastic bag sitting in his lap. Viktor tried to wipe his cheeks dry for him, but the ugly grimace Yuuri set his teeth in at the touch told him to stop. 

Viktor navigated them home, rolling past an elementary school and by another shopping street in silence. It was only when Viktor went to lift Yuuri’s chair onto the main level of the inn that he noticed Yuuri had dozed off- probably out of exhaustion. Instead of jerking him around in his chair, Viktor unbuckled him and lifted Yuuri into his arms. He had grown lighter and lighter as the weeks wore on. 

“Good walk, Vicchan?” Hiroko smiled when they walked past, before her ever-present smile faded at her son’s ruddy cheeks and wet eyelashes.  
Viktor had watched Yuuri snack when he was anxious when they lived in Detroit, but he never felt the urge until that afternoon. He lay Yuuri back in his bed, propped him up with pillows and ate through every snack he bought from Lawson. He didn’t really taste anything, and the food didn’t help dispel the sour pit in his stomach. Yuuri was upset. He wasn’t even mad-- he was just.. Sad. And it was all Viktor’s fault.

Yuuri slept for several hours, and Viktor waited on the edge of the bed, watching. The inn was quiet-- it usually was until the after-dinner rush of families and elderly who came to clean and relax.

It was quiet until there was the rumbling thunder of footsteps and low melody of Saga-ben.

“If he’s awake, I need to talk to him.” Minako pushed open the door to Yuuri’s room, stopping short when her eyes found Viktor.

“Yuuri.” Her voice broke in the middle of his name. Hiroko arrived a few steps behind, confused at Minako’s rushed arrival. “Why?” 

Yuuri’s eyes flickered open, but Minako was too busy staring at Viktor. More glaring--a look that brought back the ghost of a blade pushing through his heart. 

Wonderful. Viktor just got Yuuri back, and he would be dead before they could really talk-- before Viktor could apologize for everything he ruined.

“Minako.” Yuuri broke the awkward silence with a snarl. “Out.”

Hiroko looked taken aback, her eyes flickering from her son to her childhood best friend.

“I have to protect you, Yuuri-- keep any evil spirits from settling in you--” Minako sounded more fragile than she had in the storage closet in Russia.

“This… is your...fault.” Yuuri’s eyes were bright with anger. His right hand lifted, his fingers slowly arranging into a delicate pose, his thumb and middle finger forming a circle.

“Yuuri, no!” Hiroko pushed past her friend and clasped Yuuri’s hand in both of hers. “No magic. You’re too weak.”

Viktor stayed frozen to the spot-- his fingers curled in his lap, mimicking the shape that Yuuri had made. It was too easy-- as if it was muscle memory. Memory that Viktor didn’t have-- he was not a magic user. He had grown up without it, and had only touched that world with Dmitry--

Viktor felt something surge inside of him-- either of the sickness of a faint memory of what Dmitry had used him for, or simple fight or flight when Minako moved toward the bed. But he lifted his hand, his eyes meeting with Minako’s. She stumbled backward, as if pushed back by sheer will, her arms clutching at her stomach. 

“You killed the only thing I loved!” Yuuri snarled. The words were lost on Viktor, the thick dialect obscuring a language he didn’t know in the first place. But the anger and tears in the word came through clearly. 

“Yuuri, Hiroko gasped. Minako’s hand came away from her stomach with blood, her eyes wide and lost. She didn’t move from her spot-- until in a blink, she dissolved into light. One moment she was there, and the next she wasn’t.

~

Hiroko dabbed at the blood on Yuuri’s lips with a tissue. The anger had fizzled, along with any energy Yuuri had to talk. He coughed up a mouthful of blood before he fell asleep, and Viktor felt unnaturally tired. He stared at his fingers, arranging them into ways that felt strangely familiar. He stayed in Yuuri’s room past dinner and ignored the plate of fish and rice Hiroko brought into the room for them.   
He watched his fingers, something itching at him at the edge of his consciousness.

A memory-- a younger, softer Minako moving softer and smaller hands into the miscellaneous poses, a grimoire in the faded background.

“I want to do ballet, sensei,” The voice inside his head was close, but it wasn’t his-- it wasn’t his native language, but Yuuri’s. 

“We will after you learn another spell. You have a lot of potential, Yuu-chan. You need to learn more than the cooking magic your mom taught you.”

“I don’t want to do music, I want to dance.” The younger Yuuri whined-- but it wasn’t a shared memory of Minako--- Viktor was Yuuri inside Viktor’s mind. The realization brought him out of his thoughts, his hand mimicking the pose he had last seen Yuuri copy.

It only made sense. Yuuri had patched Viktor up with his soul-- he had given up most of himself for Viktor to be whole. 

Viktor crawled into the bed with Yuuri and pulled him close-- chest to chest, he squeezed Yuuri tightly. At the rate this was going, Yuuri wouldn’t be independent for a year or more. Viktor had no problem waiting.. But it meant that Yuuri lost a year of his life for Viktor. It was wasted on him.

Yuuri shifted in Viktor’s arms, his limp arms moving and fingers curling against Viktor’s back, his feet sliding up Viktor’s calves.

“Yuuri?” Viktor choked, his heart hammering in his chest.

“Viktor,” Yuuri hummed sleepily, his fingers tracing electrifying lines on Viktor’s back.

“Are you… okay?” Viktor breathed, something tugging inside of him.

“I feel wonderful,” Yuuri mused sleepily. Viktor pulled back, but the moment they separated, Yuuri went limp and doll-like again.

Viktor sat up, his fingers skimming his breastbone. He pulled down Yuuri’s loose cotton nightshirt until he could see the seal still etched into his skin. 

Viktor drew back, wrestling with the sheets until he and Yuuri were free of them. He pulled Yuuri to the edge of the bed, hugging him closely, heart to heart. He stood up, pulling Yuuri with him, and Yuuri’s feet held his weight for the first time since they were in the rink. Yuuri nuzzled into his shoulder, taking a tentative step forward with Viktor. They made it to the door of Yuuri’s bedroom before Viktor tripped on the threshold. He stumbled backward, their connection severed. Yuuri stood on his own for a few seconds-- before his knees wobbled and his eyelids grew heavy as he fell to the ground like a limp doll.

Viktor barely managed to cradle Yuuri’s head before it hit the hardwood floor. Tears stung his eyes as Yuuri fell back into exhaustion.

It wasn’t Yuuri missing parts of his soul keeping him asleep.

It was the brand Viktor had marked him with.


	13. String

Viktor padded hesitantly into the kitchen. He had been planning all night, laying awake while Yuuri slept next to him. Not that Yuuri had a choice. The exhaustion had never left his limbs, but his racing thoughts kept him awake.

“Katsuki...san?” Viktor winced at how weak he sounded. Hiroko didn’t answer, too busy minding two pans worth of cooking as well as the laundry she was folding on the kitchen table.

“Ah, ohayou Vicchan.” Hiroko smiled when she nearly bumped into him.

“Ohayou, Katsu--”

“Katsuki-mama okay?” Hiroko interrupted with a soft, loving smile. Even though this was all Viktor’s fault.

“Katsuki-mama…” Viktor felt his cheeks flush. “Can I have.. Yuuri’s book?” He tried to gesture the size and shape of the grimoire Viktor had packed with them months ago.

Hiroko’s smile instantly faded. It didn’t disappear, but it definitely dimmed. 

“I--- I want to help. I need to make sure--” Viktor stuttered in English. But Hiroko shook her head and waved for him to follow her. He trailed after her to a small side room that smelled the incense, a small altar in the corner set with framed photos and a perfectly sculpted bowl of rice. Hiroko stood on her tiptoes, taking down the worn black book off the top of the altar. 

“Take care--” Hiroko worried her bottom lip, her eyes filling with poorly concealed tears. Before she could say anything else, something above them fell with a thunk and shook the ceiling above them.

“Yuuri--” Viktor took the book and ran out of the room and took the stairs two at a time. He dropped the book on Yuuri’s dust-coated desk, forgetting it in the same of panic of Yuuri laying on the floor in an awkward heap, one of his arms pinned underneath his body as he strained to breathe.

“Fuck.” Viktor hissed, easily lifting Yuuri and righting him. “Yuuri, are you okay? What hurts?” He cradled Yuuri in his lap, holding his back to his chest. Yuuri’s leg bent, his feet skimming Viktor’s calf, before it froze. His tongue was tied-- he only had the energy for one task at a time. Viktor tried to massage blood back into the arm that Yuuri had pinned under himself, working from his elbow to his fingertips. He stopped as soon as he felt the warm tears drop from Yuuri’s cheeks and onto his hands.

He had to fix this.  
~

Yuuri still looked exhausted at breakfast. Hiroko strapped him up into a dining chair, and he barely opened his mouth for bites of rice or the tip of a bowl of miso. 

“Are you sore?” Viktor helped Yuuri out of his chair and onto the tatami mat of their family room for his daily stretches. Viktor had grown used to helping Yuuri, but it felt awkward now that he was more or less awake. His fingers flexed when Viktor guided his arm back and forth, rotating and stretching out his muscles. Viktor was more conscious of the shape of Yuuri’s body on top of his-- the comforting weight of Yuuri on his lap, and the loose liquid movement Viktor guided him into. 

“...no.” Yuuri kept his head up, but against Viktor’s shoulder. He didn’t stiffen or roll away, but his cheeks were flushed a deep pink.

“Be honest.” Viktor frowned. Yuuri’s toes curled experimentally.

“No.” He repeated, just as weakly but with a shorter tone. Yuuri was quiet for the rest of his physical therapy, until the end.

“Tired.” He breathed, sliding down until his head was resting in Viktor’s lap.

“Rest, then. I’ll keep you from rolling anywhere.” Viktor swept Yuuri’s bangs out of his eyes. His hair had grown longer over the months. Hiroko had taken to clipping it back instead of trimming it-- what would probably be a two-person job.  
Viktor waited until Yuuri dozed off before he pulled the grimoire from the inside of his jinbei. The leather cover was uncomfortable against his stomach, but it didn't fit into his pockets. He flipped through its pages, squinting at the messy handwritten pages. The letters were thick, printed with ink that seemed to sit on top of the paper. The first half of the book contained basic spells cooking, followed by charms for cleaning and good luck. Viktor skimmed these pages until he got to what he was looking for. He peeled apart a page gingerly. It was glued together with dried blood. Viktor felt his own run cold at the ghost of a handprint on the edge of the page. Only a few fingers, but Viktor knew it was Yuuri’s hand. His eyes flickered to the top of the page-- summoning.

He was staring at the beginning of their story.

Yuuri stirred in his lap. Viktor jolted, hurriedly flipping past the page, his heart racing in his chest. Yuuri only nuzzled into Viktor’s thigh, the corner of his mouth wet with drool. The panic drowned out any arousal Viktor could feel, and he looked heavenward and took several long, deep breaths before he could go on.

He turned back to the page just after summoning. He was close to what he wanted. Some words didn’t make sense-- but he didn’t dare ask Yuuri.   
Hiroko fluttered in half an hour later, tidying the resistance band and foam rollers Viktor had used with Yuuri.

“Katsuki-mama..” Viktor held out the grimoire. “What is.. Tr---transmog--”

Hiroko blinked, her eyes wide with concern for a split second before she covered it with her typical motherly softness.

“You can read?” Hiroko smiled encouragingly. 

“I...yes…” Viktor frowned. He turned the page-- but it looked exactly the same to him. “I’ve been reading it for a while.. But.. I don’t understand everything. I’m not a magic user.”

“Sorry, Vicchan. Grimoire… special to each person.” Hiroko struggled to explain it. “Yuuri… made when growing up.”

Viktor read through the steps to heal minor injuries on the page before the strange word. It made sense. But he worried about the thick section about summoning demons.

Yuuri always knew how to surprise him.

~  
Mari spent the afternoon hanging paper charms around the perimeter of the inn. Viktor didn’t notice at first-- he spent the time after lunch in the common room with Yuuri and Toshiya, watching the Sagan Tosu match on TV. Mari had charged Yuuri’s cellphone and set it on the table next to him. But Yuuri didn’t lift a hand, the velcro and elastic strap holding him up on his chair the only thing keeping him upright and awake.  
Viktor didn’t dare touch the phone. The competitive season was nearly over, but the internet was forever. He had no idea what had happened after Viktor appeared on international television and Yuuri pulled him off of it. Viktor vaguely remembered the phone of Yuutopia Katsuki ringing off the hook for the first few weeks of his time laying in bed with an unconscious Yuuri. But then it stopped, and Yuuri woke up into something like normalcy. 

It was all for the better. What would he tell Yakov? Viktor had plenty of time inside his own head. Yakov had been right-- he had hated Dmitry. He had been a distraction, and Viktor had ignored Yakov, as always. After all, he had been in love and happy, until one day everything was different. It was like a switch had been turned, if a switch was enough to explain the difference between Dmitry Before and Dmitry After. It was more like a meteor-- cold space rock plummeting down to its own hell and burning into something unrecognizable.

They had been in love. Dmitry had never hit him-- ignored him--anything. He always texted back, he didn’t mind how clingy Viktor was. It had been perfect.

Well.

Viktor looked up at Yuuri, his hand resting on Viktor’s arm and his toes pressed against his ankle. 

Dmitry had accepted him. He took his bear-hugs and constant text conversations and pictures of poodles. He made sure to schedule dinner for after practice and bought him roses for every gold medal.

Dmitry had used magic around him once. The last time Viktor had ever seen him.

Yuuri had refused to use simple magic, but here they were, months later dealing with the repercussions of major black magic and Yuuri sacrificing himself twice over.

They may have the same dark hair, same quiet demeanor that balanced out Viktor’s obnoxiously loud extroversion. 

But Yuuri had been the one to always reach out to Viktor.

Which is why he particularly dreaded severing the contract-- the last thing tying them together. Of course Yuuri would save him-- he had given up his eternal existence for Phichit. But Phichit had been his best friend, and after the contract was gone Yuuri would have no use for him. He’d be better off without him.

But even when those words bubbled up in his mind, Yuuri challenged them. He reached out for Viktor-- a gentle, longing touch, his soft brown eyes finding Viktor’s. He stared questioningly. Viktor forced a smile-- his conditioned reflex to someone looking at him. But then Yuuri smiled back, a shy and sweet smile.

“Oi, Viktor! Help me out!” Mari called from the doorway. She stood on her tip toes, trying to hang more paper charms over the doorway. Yuuri’s smile fell, the straps holding him up keeping him from being able to turn around in his chair.

Viktor stood up-- he was the tallest person in Hasetsu, and he taped the charms easily.

“What are they for?” Viktor held the end of the string and waited for Mari to get him another piece of string.

“Protect charm...After Yuuri attacked Minako-sensei…” Mari trailed off. “Yuuri….is at risk for becoming an evil spirit.” Mari’s voice dropped so that only Viktor could hear her. “This keeps them out.”

Viktor watched as Toshiya jumped and punched the air as Sagan Tosu scored-- and Yuuri sat like a limp doll.

“This is my fault.” 

“Huh?” Mari grunted, handing Viktor the last piece of tape.

~

Viktor waited until Yuuri was settled in bed and Yuutopia grew quiet. He took Yuuri’s phone and read through the last section of Yuuri’s grimoire by the light of the screen.

There was nothing perfect-- but there was a page on anti-demonic weapon enchantment. It was the only way Viktor could think of getting rid of the contract branded into the skin above his heart.

His hands shook as he crept downstairs and stole a fruit knife from Hiroko’s kitchen. He took a sharpie from Yuuri’s desk. It felt weirdly too human to write the loopy designs onto the metal of the blade with a marker-- but with the final shape, the metal hummed with a strange energy that clearly was not any cooking charm Hiroko would use.

Viktor drew the blade down his thumb, but it didn’t sting a bit. No blood welled from his skin, and despite a second run with the blade up to its hilt-- it did not cut.

Viktor set the knife on the bedstand next to Yuuri’s glasses. He was careful not to touch Yuuri’s skin if he could help-- but Viktor looked up from unbuttoning his nightshirt to Yuuri’s open eyes.

Open, trusting eyes. Without a trace of fear.

“I’m sorry… Let’s end...this.” Viktor picked up the knife, steadying it with both hands. Yuuri’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t move.

He couldn’t.

He pushed the blade into the corner of the contract brand, squeezing his eyes shut as he tugged it through flesh and over bone. A sob choked his throat when Yuuri cried out. Blackness sparked at the edge of his vision, and his grip on the knife grew slippery with blood. He had to fight to get the knife through the entire mark before

he was a string 

that 

snapped.


	14. Dmitri

“Mitya!” Viktor fell against his boyfriend. He laughed, catching Viktor in his arms. “ I didn’t know you were coming to watch!”

“It’s the Russian nationals, it’s my duty.” Dmitri smiled shyly. Viktor traced the freckles on his cheek and the bridge of his nose.

“I missed you.” Viktor smiled coyly. Dmitri’s green eyes were gentle and warm. His dark brown hair was combed neatly to the side, and he had dressed up in a Coach three piece set for the occasion.

“It’s been two days.” Dmitri laughed. Viktor rolled his eyes and stood back on his feet. 

“Are you coming to my room tonight?” Viktor bowed his head to stare up through his long eyelashes.

“O--of course.” Dmitri bit his bottom lip. Viktor perked up. He loved embarassing him.

“I bought your magazine.” Viktor smiled, tangling his fingers with Dmitri’s.

“Its not my magazine, it was just a spread--” Dmitri shook his head. “I bought your magazine. The one with your name on the front.”

Viktor felt lighter than air. “I thought they were sold out?”

“I have connections.” Dmitri said solemnly. “Here. I made you a good luck charm.” He pulled a thumb-sized cloth bag out of his coat pocket and pressed it into Viktor’s palms.

Viktor stared at it-- deep red with a black ribbon, clumsily hand-sewn together. He could hear Yakov scoffing-- skating is all hard work and no luck” But it was the most personal thing Viktor ever had from a lover. He had Hermes scarves and cuff links and even lipsticks. 

“I love it.” Viktor kissed his boyfriend on the cheek, tucking the charm into the collar of his costume. “How about a charm for everyone else to trip?”

Dmitri looked flustered. “I’m not that good, Viktor.”

“I’m joking. It’s nationals. Not like I need it anyway.”

“Go out and win. I’ll be with you in spirit.” Dmitri smiled and they parted with a final kiss.

~

“I swear the crowd gets louder when you’re on the ice.” Dmitry breathed. He pulled the sheets up to his neck, even though he’d been on covers all over Europe with only an artfully placed hand to hide him.

“I don’t really notice.” Viktor pushed his hair out of his eyes-- his skin was sticky and his nerves on fire from a full day of competition and an hour of celebrating on his hotel bed with Mitya.

“It’s like everything gets brighter and bigger with you there.” Dmitri hummed.

“You don’t have to stroke my ego, Mitya.” Viktor couldn’t help but giggle, turning to lay on his stomach.

“I’m just telling the truth.” Dmitri smiled, rolling onto his side to be closer to Viktor. The weight of his body against him was comforting. If Mitya came to every event, Viktor would set another world record. He would win them all.

~  
“Mitya.” Viktor touched his lower back. He had spaced out multiple times during the gala, eyes blank and mouth still. Viktor knew it wasn’t the most fun, but this was strange. “Do you want to leave early?”

“No. That’d be suspicious.” Dmitri said stiffly, rolling his champagne glass in his hands. 

“We’ll go in half an hour.” Viktor frowned, going to greet another sponsor and grab a fresh glass of wine.

When they got back to Viktor’s room, Dmitri was just as quiet. Viktor stripped out of his suit, walking to the ensuite bathroom just in his panties. 

“Mitya~” Viktor reached out, his hands brushing his boyfriend’s behind as he stared off into space again. Dmitri turned, Viktor’s head snapping and skin stinging with the slap. Tears blurred his vision and Viktor blinked, lost.

“What’s wrong?” Viktor felt his cheeks burn. He hoped it wouldn’t leave a mark.

“Uh--you scared me.” Dmitri turned, staring with wide eyes. “I’m sorry, Vitya.”

Viktor looked Dmitri up and down. He must be drunk. He hadn’t even tried to be sneaky.

“I’ll make it up to you?” Dmitri’s smiled, and it eased Viktor’s nerves just a bit.

“Okay. You have ten minutes.” Viktor pulled the hotel robe off its hanger and ducked into the bathroom with a coy smile that disappeared the moment the door closed.

When Viktor came out ten minutes later, scrubbed clean smelling like his rose body wash, Dmitri was sitting on the bed. Viktor sat on the edge, his heart picking up it’s pace when Dmitri tied his silk tie over Viktor’s eyes. His hands pulled the knot of the terrycloth robe free, and Dmitri’s finger’s danced down his spine.

“Stop teasing, you know I’m impatient.” Viktor smiled, his fingers twisting in the robe pooled around his waist. Dmitri slid a finger up his spine, his breath hot on the shell of Viktor’s ear.

“You’re many things.” Dmitri breathed. Viktor swallowed, waiting for Dmitri to do something else to set him on edge. “You’re exactly what I want.”

Viktor smiled, opening his mouth to say something. But nothing move-- he felt frozen, his body not listening to him. He tried to question Dmitri, but he couldn’t anyway-- pain exploded in a line across his throat. He fell back onto the bed, his breathing wet and shallow, the tie slipping off his face.

The last thing he saw was Dmitri pulling his heart from his chest-- a limp,silver-haired body ruined on a hotel bed.


	15. Yuuri

Viktor woke up in Yuuri’s room, tucked between futons on the floor. He had spent the last few months sharing Yuuri’s bed and it felt strange to be next to it. Yuuri’s bed was stripped of it’s sheets, and the sun streaming in from the window signaled that it was at least noon.

Viktor felt like he was hungover--a head-splitting headache and a dry mouth. He stumbled when he got onto his feet, following the familiar path down to the kitchen. He had to help with Yuuri’s physical therapy-- 

Viktor stopped short of bowling into the person standing behind Yuuri’s chair. 

“Good morning, Vicchan!” Hiroko chirped-- same as always-- holding the bottom of the milk carton as Yuuri tipped it over to fill his glass. 

“Good, good. Now, go get a plate for Vicchan.” Hiroko straightened the carton and closed it, managing most of the weight of the item. Yuuri did an awkward side-step to let Viktor by, his feet unsteady but underneath him.

“Yuuri--” Viktor said-- his voice gravelly and so dry that it was almost a growl. But Yuuri avoided his gaze, his honey-brown eyes glued to the floor.

“Morning,” He whispered, sidestepping Viktor again to walk to the kitchen cupboard.

“Do you want to get Mari from upstairs?” Hiroko’s smile was bright and she took the plate from her son and set it in front of Viktor.

“I’m tired,” Yuuri said in the same soft tone, sinking into his spot next to Viktor.

Viktor reached out and pulled up the hem of Yuuri’s shirt. Yuuri shrunk back, his arms going up to protect his face.

Viktor stared at the gauze square taped to Yuuri’s chest. Dread weighed him down. It hadn’t been a dream. He had really done it.

It had worked. But he had done it.

Yuuri sat, stunned, before he wrestled down his shirt. He took his glass of milk and plate of toast and retreated, walking heavy-footed out of the kitchen and disappearing.

Hiroko seemed unphased, setting a fresh piece of toast on Viktor’s plate.

Viktor sat, at a loss for words before he jumped to his feet and followed after Yuuri.

“Yuuri---” Viktor reached out and Yuuri stopped short, his toast slid off his plate and landed, jam-face-down on the floor.

Yuuri groaned in frustration, turning to skirt Viktor and go back to the kitchen. Viktor, in a fit of stupidity, grabbed Yuuri under his arms and picked him up.

“Ow!” Yuuri growled, kicking at Viktor’s legs as he tried to find purchase a few centimeters off the ground. “Ow ow oww!” His voice grew louder and sharper, but it was better than being ignored.

Viktor dropped him onto his feet and fervently hoped that Yuuri wouldn’t try to escape him again.

But Yuuri turned on his heel, kicking the ruined toast out of his way. “Stop! If you’re going to leave, just LEAVE!” He growled, his mouth twisted in a snarl that softened to loss, his eyes flooding with tears.

“What? Why would I leave?” Viktor curled his toes-- a glob of jam had landed on the top of his foot on its way to the wall. “Blyad, Yuuri--- I’m not good at crying people.”

Yuuri held up the plate in front of his face, but Viktor could hear the sniffles and soft hiccups from his most treasured person.   
“You broke up with me, idiot.” Yuuri sniffed. “What reason would you have to stay?”

“What? No--- Why would I-- break up with you?” Something was exciting about the word-- it made it feel like there was something more to what they had.

Yuuri’s fingers played with the fabric above his heart. Above the gauze pad that needed changing. 

Viktor frowned, pressing his fingers against his forehead and the massive headache sitting just behind it. He tugged the plate down and out of Yuuri’s hands, and pressed his lips against Yuuri’s in a hard, awkward kiss. Yuuri swayed, tripping on his own feet and pulling Viktor down with him to the floor.

Mari stopped at the bottom of the stairs. “The mop is in the storage room, Yuuri.”

Yuuri’s face burned red, and his eyes were screwed shut. But he didn’t make a move to pull away from Viktor.

Viktor ended up moving first, sitting on the floor so he was no longer trapping Yuuri on the floor. Yuuri stayed where he was, sitting up and holding his bright red face in his hands.

“Was that okay?” Viktor broke the awkward silence. Yuuri nodded, slowly, before he dropped his hands to his lap.

“I don’t understand.” He said quietly, focusing on the floor toast instead of Viktor. 

“What don’t you understand?” At least Yuuri had stopped crying.

“There’s no reason for you to stay.” Yuuri said softly. He pulled at the fabric of his jeans. 

Irritation bubbled up, and Viktor took a deep breath. “What do you mean no reason? I love you, Yuuri.”

“Why would you love me? You’re---”

“I’m not a demon anym--” Viktor interrupted

“Viktor Nikiforov!” Yuuri finished. Viktor stared, astounded.

“And you’re Yuuri Katsuki.” Viktor frowned. “You gave up everything for me. You gave up everything without a second thought for Phichit… and you kept doing it. There’s nothing stronger than that love.”

Yuuri’s hands tightened into fists. “You don’t have a contract with me. You don’t have to stay just because--”

“I want to stay, Yuuri! Is it so hard for you to believe that I want you?”

Yuuri flinched, blinking hard at Viktor’s tone. “Thank god mom doesn’t speak english.” He muttered to himself. 

“I thought you liked me too.” Viktor tried his best to control his voice. Yuuri looked up, his expression akin to as if he had just swallowed a frog.

Viktor didn’t push anymore. They sat in another silent moment.

Yuuri sat on his knees and crawled to close the short distance between them. He hesitated and his hands shook, before he folded his arms around Viktor and he squeezed tightly. His tear-sticky cheek rested on Viktor’s shoulder, and guilt bloomed in his chest as Viktor felt Yuuri’s rapidly beating heart in his chest. Yuuri was so light and fragile, but his touch was more grounding than anything Viktor had felt in years. 

“I...I do.” Yuuri whispered, his cheeks hot against Yuuri’s shoulder. “So much.”  
~

Yuuri took an afternoon nap, stretched out on the tatami of the common room. Viktor watched the children shows on the TV-- a chair puppet dancing along with a cheery group of human adults and kids-- while Yuuri drooled , his head cradled in his lap. He had lost all of his competition muscle tone, and despite the diligent physical therapy, Yuuri still had a long time to go before he was back to normal.

Yuuri woke up when Hiroko came in with earthenware cups of tea and a plate of freshly baked cookies. Hiroko said something sing-songy in Japanese to her son, setting a tiny plate on the table as he rubbed at his eyes.

“Uh… Mom says… she found a russian tea cookie recipe on cookpad.” Yuuri yawned, translating into english despite the fact that Hiroko and Viktor had gotten along fine during the months Yuuri had slumbered.

Viktor’s chest felt too tight. The cookies were very small, but looked otherwise perfect. Viktor made sure to sing his praises-- in Russian and in Japanese. He waited until Hiroko was gone to kiss off the powdered sugar on the corner of Yuuri’s mouth. The flush on Yuuri’s cheeks was even sweeter. 

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Viktor asked after they finished the cookies and tea.

“I’m not a dog,” Yuuri murmured.

“Yuuri, I wasn’t--” Viktor stared to whine before Yuuri smiled. “Yuuri, how mean!” He switched gears.

“Show me your favorite part of Hasetsu.” Yuuri sat up, taking a little too long to get to his feet.

“I...uh…” Viktor’s smile faded. “I haven’t really been out in Hasetsu.”

Yuuri blinked. “It’s April.”

“Yeah.” Viktor fidgets-- Yuuri’s the only person to ever made him feel nervous.

“You came here the end of November.” Yuuri’s hands curl at his side. Viktor focuses on them instead-- Yuuri fidgets, picking at his nails. “What did you do?”

“Try to keep you alive.” Viktor said weakly. “Nothing else really mattered.”

Yuuri stepped back, as if the meaning of Viktor’s words had weight that pushed him away.

“I don’t understand-- are you mad?” Viktor stood up, but didn’t push.

“I… No? I can’t believe you. You didn’t do anything for months?” Yuuri is right--he isn’t mad. He looks sad, which is somehow worse.

“It… It wasn’t a big deal. Besides, you told me I died years ago.” Viktor shrugged. “I was sure I’d do something stupid and drag you into something you didn’t deserve.”

“Did you do anything? Does Phichit know what happened to me?” Yuuri’s voice rose into a squeak.

“We don’t really talk… I let him know when we got into Hasetsu. I used your phone.” Viktor flushed. “Can we… just go out? The past is over and done with it. Can’t we go to your favorite place?”

“We can’t.” Yuuri’s face turned uncharacteristically dark. Viktor stepped forward, folding his hands over Yuuri’s.

“You’re going to ruin your hands.” Viktor whispered, running his thumb over Yuuri’s nails. Some of his cuticles were bleeding, the nails rough and uneven.

Yuuri moved to pull back, and Viktor let him go. “Second favorite place?”

“Can’t.” Yuuri bit his bottom lip instead. Viktor’s knees fell a little weak.

“Third?” Viktor raised a hopeful eyebrow.

“We’re already home.” Yuuri muttered. 

“Anywhere else?” Viktor plastered on an encouraging smile. Yuuri’s gaze fluttered to the ground. He thought for a long moment. “I… want to bring you to a shrine.”

~  
They walked down the street that passed in front of Yuutopia, heading the opposite direction from the train station. The street was about half as wide as any road in St. Petersburg, and either side held an uncovered gutter half a meter deep and full of moss. When a car passed, Yuuri pressed Viktor against a garden wall, his feet balancing on the edge of the gutter. The houses grew further apart, until yards turned into trees. Yuuri held his hand until they passed under the red gate and through a tunnel of pine trees. He took a bamboo ladle out of a stone basin, pouring it over his hands and onto the ground. Viktor did the same, the water so cold that his fingers went numb. 

“It’s peaceful.” Viktor murmured, standing under the pine trees. The main building was surrounded by cherry trees, still in full bloom. It was quiet, as if the street was kilometers away.

“It’s the family shrine. Everyone is buried here.” Yuuri said quietly, his dripping hands hanging by his sides.

“Oh.” Viktor said softly. “Can we?”

Yuuri’s shoulders rose a little, before he turned. “This way first.” He led Viktor to a corner of the grounds, where a row of stone dolls in red caps and bibs stood in rows above a carpet of moss and tarnished coins.  
Yuuri brushed off the cap of three statues toward the end of one row. He picked up a few scattered rocks, carefully stacking them on top of each other.

“Jizo…” Yuuri broke this silence, his hands busying themselves with stacking another pile of rocks. “Is the Bhudda that protects children that die early to heaven.” He said it frankly. Viktor’s stomach dropped.

“I had two older brothers and one younger one before my mom stopped with fertility treatments.” Yuuri kept his eyes on the Jizo. “Minako-sensei told me after I came out to her as trans. I was so scared of what my parents would think. I knew about these all my life, but my parents didn’t really talk about it. We’d always take care of them during Obon, but that was it.”

“How did it go?” Viktor bent down to pick up a rock, searching the ground for more.

“Better than I thought. My dad called me his son right away. My mom has always been supportive.”

Viktor smiled. “I knew it. They’ve been nice to me ever since I showed up. Even though it’s my fault.”

Yuuri shook his head. “You didn’t ask me. I was the selfish one. I couldn’t let you die.” Yuuri made another pile of rocks. “I didn’t think about anyone else.”

“It’s better now.” Viktor blinked. “You’re awake.”

Yuuri’s mouth tightened. “Something’s wrong with Minako-sensei.”

“Yeah, well she killed me, right? If she’s an angel, that’s her job.” Viktor held up his hands. He wasn’t exactly comfortable with Minako, but he didn’t want to be the wedge between him and his lifelong teacher.

“She’s not. She looked… different.” Yuuri stuck his hands in his pockets. He strode away, as if he could leave the subject alone.

“Mari said Minako gave them charms to protect the house.” Viktor didn’t drop the subject, following Yuuri to a row of square granite pillars.

“It doesn’t make any sense.” Yuuri kept his hands in his pockets. “Something’s just...wrong.”

They stopped in front of a grave marker that Viktor recognized some of the kanji on. Yuuri didn’t say anything, instead he took Viktor’s hand and pulled him back to the main building. 

There was no one manning it-- Hasetsu was shrinking day by day, after all. Yuuri pulled his wallet out, dropping a coin into a wooden box and pulling a white paper envelope from a repurposed catalogue drawer. Yuuri tore the paper open, pulling out a small embroidered amulet. He held it up by the string, before he tucked it into the front pocket of Viktor’s shirt.

“What is it?”

“Protection.” Yuuri answered, his hand hovering over Viktor’s pocket. 

~

“Can you make it?” Viktor turned around. They were halfway back to Yuutopia, and Yuuri was dragging his feet. It had been too far of a push too soon after months of being bedridden.

“I’m fine. I just need a break… Or a coffee.” Yuuri rubbed his eyes, his sneakers scraping on the asphalt.

“I’ll carry you.” Viktor turned.

“What? No--” Yuuri squeaked, his cheeks burning red.

“Okay. Then you can ride on my back.” Viktor grinned. Yuuri shook his head.  
“I’m fine! That’s-- embarrassing! You can’t anyway, I’ll be too heavy--”””

“Yuuri, please? There’s nowhere to rest. We can get a coffee faster if you just…” Viktor squatted down. 

Yuuri pressed his hands into his face, muttering something unintelligible in Japanese before he wrapped his arms around Viktor’s neck. Viktor stood up-- Yuuri was surprisingly light, and Viktor’s heart beat faster with Yuuri’s soft thighs in his hands.

“Don’t let Mari see,” Yuuri muttered into Viktor’s neck. They didn’t technically go any faster, but it felt good to take care of Yuuri. They stopped at the corner of the wall that surrounded Yuuri’s home and set Yuuri on his feet. Viktor kept his hands intertwined with Yuuri’s, teasing him and peppering his still-red cheeks with feather light kisses.

Yuuri slowed when they entered the front gate, but he froze when Minako rushed up to him and swept him up into her arms in a big bear hug.

“Yuuri--where were you?” Minako shook him, surprisingly strong for being smaller than him. “We were--” Minako blinked, losing her train of thought in mid-sentence at the same time Yuuri folded like a marionette, a dead weight in her arms.

“Yuuri?” Minako knelt with him and carefully lowered him to the ground. “What’s going on?”


	16. 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: misgendering, blood, general angst

“Let him go!” Viktor roared,pulling Yuuri from her arms once the shock wore off. “You’ve done enough to him--”

“What?” Minako blinked, letting Viktor pull Yuuri into his lap. Yuuri stirred, his face crumpling and fingers flexing before he pressed his hands to his face.

“Yuuri-- what happened? Are you okay?” Viktor cradled Yuuri closer, supporting his back and his free hand going to check the bandage over Yuuri’s heart.

Yuuri smiled, and Viktor’s heart stuttered. It was all teeth and too wide. “Finally,” Yuuri breathed and lifted a hand to cup Viktor’s cheek. 

“Yuuri, what did you do?” Anger flickered to life in his gut. 

Then Yuuri opened his eyes.

They weren’t his. The honey brown was more of a crimson. Colder.

“I finally figured out how to get you,” Yuuri stilled smiled, he still spoke, but it wasn’t really him.

“Who are you and what are you doing to Yuuri?” Viktor growled.

“I’m offended. We crossed paths quite a few times in hell.” Yuuri stroked his cheek. Viktor’s skin crawled, but he didn’t dare let go of Yuuri.

Viktor felt sick. A demon. Yuuri was possessed-- which meant Minako had been too. And Viktor had failed to notice-- failed to protect Yuuri.

“It took me a few years, but I finally figured it out. Killing you didn’t work.”

“Dmitri?” Viktor looked back at not-Yuuri.

“No. He’s dead. He was useless after I tried the first time. But then I realized-- if you sacrificed yourself, then I could take you.” 

“Why would you want me?” Viktor’s voice shook. “Why would you need to do this?”

“Are you really that stupid? You never noticed how everything about you is larger than life? Everything comes easily to you? Adoration, skill, love. You have a gift. You amplify everything around you. You make it stronger.”

“I don’t use magic.” Viktor swallowed thickly.

“You don’t have to. Once I have your soul, you won’t have to do anything.” Yuuri sat up and cupped Viktor’s face in his hands. “I’ve tried for so long, but I’ve finally won the game.” He stared up through his eyelashes, his smile coy. No blush to be seen. 

“I’m not playing a game.” Viktors hand shook. He was weak and enthralled and angry at the same time. 

“Oh, but I can. I can wait for years. You’re worth it.” Yuuri ran his finger along Viktor’s bottom lip. “You won’t see your precious play-thing until you give up. I don’t mind waiting. It’s quite comfortable-- plenty of room here.” Yuuri dragged his bottom lip down, smiling easily. “Or I could go fast and just--” He closed his eyes, lips parting in a wheezing gasp. He thrashed, choking and gasping for air.

“Stop! Stop! Alright-- I’ll do it!” The invisible hold around Yuuri’s neck disappeared the second the words passed Viktor’s mouth.

“Viktor, no!” Minako bit out, breaking the unsettling air and the pleased look on Yuuri’s face. “Yuuri wouldn’t want this!”

“Don’t speak for Yuuri.” Viktor grit his teeth. “You don’t--”

“If you die, you’ll kill him too.” Minako sobbed. “I can see him all over you. There’s no way to undo it.”

“I can wait.” Not-Yuuri murmured, his breath hot on Viktor’s ear. “Human lives are short. Unbearably long for you... vacation for me.”

“I don’t believe you.” Viktor bit into his bottom lip.

“Ah, impatient boy. Then I guess I’ll make it quicker. I’ve starved bodies to death quite a few times. Dmitri was easy--- he was so sad. This one-- Yuuri? Isn’t even putting up a fight.”

“Don’t--” Viktor pleaded. “Please. Just-- Give me some time.”

Not-Yuuri smiled-- a mischievous one, out of place on Yuuri’s face. “I will. As long as you do as I say.”

“As long as it doesn’t hurt Yuuri.” Viktor said gravely.

“Deal.” 

~

Viktor carried Yuuri inside in his arms, his limbs heavy with dread and guilt. Minako kept Yuuri’s mother and sister away, pushing them into the dining room with hushed words. 

“I’m hungry.” Not-Yuuri lounged in Viktor’s arms. Viktor pulled Yuuri’s canvas shoes off his feet and set them in the cubby hole. His hands still shook, but Not-Yuuri didn’t even notice.

“Yuuri’s mother made--”

“No.” Not-Yuuri interrupted. “I’ve suffered through enough of this country’s food waiting in that old hag. I want you.”

Viktor swallowed. Yuuri was possessed, not a true demon. He doubted that the demon that wanted him would be gentle either. There was not to be any soothing or healing magic. 

“Okay. Just… let’s go to his room so.. No one bothers..us.” Viktor picked Not-Yuuri up again and carried him up the stairs. He stepped over the line of salt at Yuuri’s doorway, hoping the demon didn’t notice it. It would keep him in the room-- away from anything dangerous. Viktor always had the tendency to imagine the worst, and his mind had immediately gone to Hiroko’s butcher block of knives, and sweet Yuuri, moving like a tightly strung marionette.

Not-Yuuri moved from his space on the bed to Viktor’s lap, straddling his hips and sinking dull teeth into Viktor’s neck unceremoniously. Tears sprung to Viktor’s eyes and he grit his teeth. It hurt, and a sharp jab of pain throbbed with every movement of Yuuri’s mouth against his skin. He shivered, but he had no idea whether it had to do with the pain or Yuuri’s hand playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. He felt weaker when Not-Yuuri drew back, his mouth messy and red and expression entirely satisfied. 

“You like this human more than the first one,” Not-Yuuri smirked, licking his lips clean evocotively, as if to torture Viktor. 

“I liked Dmitri,” Viktor didn’t dare move. “But Yuuri understands me…”

“Understands?” Not-Yuuri rose a skeptical eyebrow. “You creatures are strange.” 

Viktor didn’t answer-- not when he could risk angering the demon and hurting Yuuri.

“I want a bath. Undress me.” Not-Yuuri straightened, tapping Viktor’s neck. The pain didn’t fade, but Viktor could feel the skin close and bleeding stop immediately.

“Y---we live in a bath house.. The hot springs are much better than the kind of bath you’re used to.” Viktor felt his cheeks heat. He had helped with Yuuri’s physical therapy, and of course he had bathed Yuuri with Phichit that awful day in Russia. But they had never had a chance to actually undress and go to the baths together. Viktor had only ever been alone after the first awkward time with Yuuri’s father, who had only done it to explain the rules and how to operate the washing stations.

“Did I ask for details?” Not-Yuuri frowned. “Do as I say.”

“Shall I carry you there?” Viktor swallowed. Not-Yuuri glared, before standing on his feet, and Viktor took his hand and led him downstairs. 

The baths were empty despite it still being business hours. Viktor pulled Yuuri’s shirt over his head, carefully avoiding his face. He steeled himself to pull Yuuri’s pants off, peeling layer by layer to delay the inevitable. Viktor pulled Yuuri’s boxers down off his hips, his knees crying out in pain as he knelt on the tile floor of the locker room.

“I thought you only liked men. This one is a woman.” Not-Yuuri stared down at Yuuri’s body and then down at Viktor.

“Yuuri’s a man.” Viktor winced at the bitter tone that escaped his mouth before he could swallow it.

“Don’t be stupid.”  
Viktor slapped Not-Yuuri’s hand away before it could touch anything-- of Yuuri’s or Viktor’s.

“Oh.” Not-Yuuri’s mouth twitched. “You’ll regret that.”

Viktor squeezed his eyes shut, steeling himself for a blow, but nothing came. Instead, something inside him shuddered, pulling like parts of him were magnetic and were sewn to his consciousness, the patchwork pulling at the seams.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt him.” Viktor wheezed-- his head hummed and his heart ached. He lifted his eyes to see Yuuri’s eyes blood red, the vessels bursting and broken to the point that viscous red tears gathered in his tear ducts. 

“Not permanently.” The demon shrugged. “Will you behave?”

Viktor pressed a hand to his racing heart.

“Answer me.”

“I promise.”


End file.
